Like Falling
by wearing-tearing
Summary: In which Laura kills herself on the five-year anniversary of the Hale fire, Stiles convinces Derek to take him on a road trip, some things feel like falling, and everyone gets more than they bargained for.
1. Messes

**A/N:** This happened one night when I couldn't sleep and I just went with it.

This is based on _Saving June_ by Hannah Harrington, so some parts might read familiar if you've read the book.

* * *

**Messes**

Laura killed herself on the five-year anniversary of the Hale house fire.

That was a week ago, and now Derek finds himself in the kitchen of the house he used to share with her surrounded by casseroles, lasagnas, jams, homemade breads, cakes, and something he thinks is supposed to be chicken spaghetti. He'd like to know who came up with the idea that the best way to comfort a mourning family is with plated food, even if the mourning family only consisted of one person. In a town like Beacon Hills it wasn't that hard to figure out why, though.

People loved Laura.

Loved the way she smiled and always said waved or stopped to talk to people while she was grocery shopping or just walking down the street, loved how she sometimes volunteered at the Beacon Hills library or read to the kids there, and the amazing pies she baked for wherever fundraiser the city held. People loved how much better she was after the fire, how she had pulled through so much grief and sadness to become this amazing young woman who could always make you laugh and taught history at the city's high school. But everyone specially loved how happy she seemed to be. Because if someone who went through all of that could still manage to smile and laugh and make jokes, then there was hope for them too.

Well, people were wrong.

And apparently Derek was too.

No one was more surprised with Laura's death than him. She was his sister, the one remaining family member he had left after their childhood home burned down, taking everyone they loved with it. He knew the first year after the fire was hard – especially for him – with the memories of the family they lost still fresh on their minds, along with the smell of smoke and the taste of ash in the back of their throats. But while he shut everyone around him out and became Beacon Hills' resident damaged beyond-belief bad boy, Laura had gotten better.

Or at least he thought she did.

Derek is distracted from his thoughts by the sudden smell of must and cat litter from the old-lady currently giving him a hug. She doesn't seem to notice how his back stiffens, and how he doesn't hug her back, just stands there waiting for her to let go. He doesn't think he's ever been hugged this much by anyone – expect for Laura, always Laura – since the fire, and to have it happen because his sister decided she didn't want to be living anymore makes him feel dizzy, like he's too big for his skin and all he wants to do is claw his chest open and get. The fuck. Out.

"It's such a tragedy," the woman says. The old librarian, Derek's brain supplies. "She was so young."

"Yes," Derek agrees.

"Such a good girl!"

"Yes," he says again.

"Oh, honey, since you haven't stopped by the library to pick up your sisters things, I thought it would be a good idea to bring them here to you," she pauses. Derek thinks she might be waiting for him to thank her, to tell her how generous she is. Too bad all his energy right now is focused on not screaming on her face. "Well, she didn't really have anything left there because a couple of weeks ago she decided to clean out her lock–," she pauses again, her eyes going wide as she realized what she was just about to say.

Laura had cleaned her locker at the library. Just as she had packed up almost everything in her desk at Beacon Hills High. Derek thought that was because she didn't like to live in chaos, that she was only getting rid of the mess. He never thought that she was cleaning up so he didn't have to, not that. Never that. And it was such a Laura thing to do, always taking care of him, even when she wasn't here anymore.

"Anyways," the woman continues, but now going through her purse so she doesn't have to look directly at Derek. "This is the only thing I could find of hers. I thought you should keep it."

She holds out a blue frozen rope necklace for him. When he doesn't make any motions to take it, she presses it into the palm of his hand. "Do you know what this is?"

And of course he knows what this is.

This is Laura's Mets necklace. She got it a couple of years ago in one of their trips to New York. The fact that she kept this there, where he would eventually have to go to and make sure she didn't leave anything behind was like a punch in the gut. Because baseball used to be a family thing. Their parents loved it – his dad lived in New York for part of his childhood and was obsessed with the game –, and he still remembers his Uncle Peter teaching him how to play in the backyard of the old house. How everyone always got together to watch the games, his dad screaming at the television while his mom stared at him with a fond look on her face, his little cousins running around screaming, him and Laura wearing matching Mets' caps too big for their heads. After the fire, watching baseball games was the only thing they did that was even remotely related to their family.

Now, even looking at the necklace makes him want to throw up. Which is why he all but flings it back to the old woman. "No. I don't want this. You can have it."

"But it's hers. You should keep it."

And Derek can't do this. He wants to get away, to run until his legs give out, until he can't breathe anymore.

"I don't want it," and now she's looking at him like he lost it, and he hates it. He hates this. "Okay. I don't. Want. It. I don't."

He hadn't realized he was screaming until he feels firm hand on his shoulder and turns around to find the Sheriff looking at him.

"Why don't we step outside for a minute, son?" and his voice is so filled with understanding and sympathy that Derek wants to kick things.

As soon as they're outside the house, Derek sits down on the porch steps and drops his head into his hands. He's never felt so exhausted in his life, not even after the house burned down, because he still had Laura back then. Laura with her arm draped over his shoulder. Laura holding his hand so tight her knuckles went white. Laura saying everything would be okay, they would be okay, because they still had each other.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, and then another, and then holds the next one until his chest burns so badly he thinks it might burst.

The Sheriff has already turned back around inside, knowing it was better to leave him alone for a little while, so by the time Derek decides to lift his head up he's a little surprised to see someone standing against the side of the house.

Derek gives him a good once over. The boy looks about his height, maybe an inch or so shorter, and lean. His hair is brown, buzzed closed to his skull, and unlike any other male Derek's seen today, he's not wearing a suit. Just baggy jeans and a plaid shirt over the The Who t-shirt he seems to be wearing.

Derek notices his rosy cheeks, the way the he's biting his lip, and stops at the boy's eyes, partly because they're whiskey colored, and partly because they're focused on him, staring intently back.

He looks vaguely familiar.

"So, you're Laura's brother," the boy says, taking a tentative step towards where Derek is sitting.

"Yes," he answers, only it comes out more as a grunt, and Derek has no idea why he's even talking right now.

"I'm Stiles," and he takes one more step. "Stilinski."

"The Sheriff's kid," and now things start making sense.

"Yep, that's me," the boy offers a small smile. "I used to work with Laura at the library. Or, you know, I worked there and had the pleasure of being around some of the times she showed up to help. Even though she spend most of her time making fun of me for that time she caught me lip-syncing to The Killers' _Show You How_ and dancing around instead of organizing the books in the Children's section. But in my defense, it was a Friday and there were no kids around, so you can't really blame a guy for getting his groove on."

All Derek can do is blink in response, because he's never met anyone in his life who could talk so much in so little time without pausing to breathe, and if he's being honest with himself he's weirdly impressed.

"At least she wasn't there when Lydia decided I should know the lyrics to _Spice Up Your Life_," and Stiles' voice takes this high-pitched tone as he tries, Derek guesses, to make an impersonation of Lydia, "'You'll have to do something to keep them busy while they wait for Laura. And there's nothing better than to dance and sing to the Spice Girls', she said – and completely ignored me when I told her Simon & Garfunkel's _At The Zoo_ could more than make up for it – in case Laura was ever late again for the reading so the kids wouldn't start running around the library and trying to climb bookshelves like they did last time."

"So you know all the lyrics to a Spice Girls song?" Derek hears himself asking, not really knowing why. He doesn't normally talk to people, avoids it as much as he can, but apparently Stiles is the exception. Maybe it's for the fact that Stiles manages to do what he's been failing at since he found Laura, and that is get him out of his own head for a while.

He gets this sick feeling of satisfaction as Stiles' eyes widen, a blush appearing on his cheeks.

"I'll let you know that Lydia is really scary when she wants to be, okay? And no one in their right mind would ever go against her and risk death by pointy heels when she's like that."

Derek arches one eyebrow at that, but looks at the ground when Stiles' blush moves to cover his whole face and down his neck. That's why he misses Stiles' stare going from embarrassed to determinate in a second, misses his change to mentally prepare himself for what he's going to say next.

"I know this doesn't help," and Stiles voice is soft, almost as if he's apologizing for something. "And I know this is probably the last thing you want to hear right now, that you don't think I could possibly understand what you're going through. But I kind of do. My mom–," and Derek can almost hear the way Stiles pushes his emotions down and shuts them up. "I'm– I'm sorry about Laura."

Those last words said in almost a whisper, and Derek can't. He just. He can't. So he gets up and makes his way back up the porch steps and into the house, without looking back.

In the kitchen, he tries to rearrange the refrigerator shelves to make more space, but the quiche won't fit. He thinks about throwing it in the trash, but settles to just leave it on the counter instead. He can feel people looking at him, as if they're expecting him to break down and cry at any moment.

Maybe it's because he didn't cry at the memorial service.

Derek makes his way upstairs without making eye contact with anyone. He figures if he shuts himself in his room, away from prying eyes, everyone will just gather their things and leave.

In the upstairs hallway, there are two framed photos on the wall: the first is of Laura from when she graduated college, and the second is of Derek glaring at the camera on his last day of classes on Beacon Hills Community College. A lot of people say they could be twins, even though Laura was two years older than Derek. Both have the same jet-black hair, and green eyes, although Derek's are lighter.

Derek stares at Laura's picture on the wall and thinks: This is it. I'll never see her face again. It hurts to look at, but he can't bring himself to stop. He wants to soak up everything that is Laura and braid it into his DNA, brand it on his skin, make it a part of him. Maybe then he'll be able to figure out how this happened. How she could do this. Because this is what everyone wants to know, what everyone wants him to answer, expect him to answer. Because she was his sister, and it's wrong that he's as clueless as everyone else.

He makes a bee-line for Laura's room. He hasn't been inside since the day before she died, when he came in to bring her a cup of coffee before she had to go to work. He pushes the door open and steps inside. The room looks exactly the same as it always has. Meticulously clean. Derek wonders if she cleaned it right before, on purpose. She probably did. Like she didn't want to leave behind any messes.

But she left behind plenty of messes. Just not physical ones.

"This doesn't feel real," he mutters under his breath.

Laura left no note. No nothing. Just herself, curled up in the backseat of her car in the garage, an empty bottle of pills in her hand, the motor still running.

Derek knows because he was the one who found her.

Everything has changed and everything is still the same. The only addition is Laura's room is a few plastic bags placed side by side on the desk, filled with all of the valuables savaged from her car. Derek is just about to turn his back and get out of the room when he notices the desk drawer isn't shut all the way.

There are some papers inside, hair ties, an empty pack of bubble gum. Under of all it he finds a postcard, bent at the edges. The front of it shows the Radio City Music Hall in black and white, and when Derek turns the postcard over, it's like all the air has been sucked out of the room.

Written there are the words, _New York, I'm coming home_, in Laura's handwriting. Nothing more.

Laura always loved New York. From the times they went there with their parents when they were little, to the trips they got to take with just the two of them as they got older and their parents stayed at home, to her going to NYU to study History. The latter being the reason why she wasn't at the house when it caught fire.

Derek always felt a little bit guilty when she decided to move back to Beacon Hills to take care of him, even thought he had been eighteen at the time and could damn well take care of himself. But Laura thought it was best for them to stay together, in Beacon Hills, where it would be easier for them to make a life for themselves.

New York had always been Laura's dream. She must have been suffocating in this town, and Derek hates her a little bit for not coming to him. Not talking to him. Not asking him to leave.

He stands there with one of his hands still on the drawer handle, when the thought comes to him.

"I should take her ashes to New York."

He doesn't mean to blurt it out loud, but once it's out there, it's out. No taking it back. And as the idea begins to take root in his mind… maybe it's not such a bad thing to do.

And it's not just because of the stupid postcard. It's because that's want she wanted for herself but didn't think she'd ever get. It's about how, apparently, there is so much Derek didn't know about his sister, and this is as much as he'll ever have of her. A postcard. A reminder of her unfulfilled dream.

He has a car now. Laura's black Camaro. And as much as he'll hate driving it all he has to do is pack up some things, close the house, grab her ashes, and go. He could do this.

He _is_ going to do this.


	2. Indoor Fireworks

**A/N: **A lot of Laura feels and not enough dialogue, but oh well.

I'll probably update this on Sundays and Wednesdays. And if you want to find out about what I'm writing next, you can always follow me on tumblr.

* * *

The Sheriff is the last one to leave – Derek having gone back downstairs when he heard the sounds of people opening and closing the front door, of cars starting and driving away – but there are no signs of Stiles hanging around. Derek tries not to feel disappointed about that.

"If you need anything, you can always come by the station," Sheriff Stilinski offers, with his hand on Derek's shoulder again, squeezing. "Or come by the house. Even if I'm not there, Stiles, my son, probably will be and God knows that kid can even distract a starving wolf from his prey."

Derek's chest aches at the exasperated-but-yet-amused look on the Sheriff's face. He can't help but wonder if his dad would have looked like that while talking about him.

"Thanks, sir," he nods. "I appreciate it."

He doesn't mention that he knows who Stiles is, that he met him earlier, how he got choked up talking about his mom. And Derek doesn't believe it took him until now to get it. Stiles' mom. The Sheriff's wife. He remembers she died about ten years ago, and that all his family went to the funereal. He was thirteen, which means Stiles must have been about eight when it happen. He can't imagine that. Losing your mother so young. Derek starts thinking of himself as lucky for at least having his own mom until he was eighteen.

He walks the Sheriff out and watches as the man drives away in the police car, and then goes to occupy himself with dishes. There are dirty plates and silverware stacked on the counter between the plates of food that wouldn't fit in the fridge. Derek finds that sponging the dishes off and stacking them is a nice distraction. He always liked having something to do with his hands.

After everything is clean and in its rightful place, he goes to the living room, only to have his thoughts go back to Laura. If this was a normal night, he'd find her curled up on the couch watching reruns of The X-Files. He'd tease her about her TV shows choices, tell her he doesn't know why she still keeps on watching it every night when she must know every single line by heart by now, and that he'll go insane if he has to sit through it and watch it with her. She'd just hit him in the face with a pillow and complain about what an annoying little shit he is.

He's so not equipped for this. For losing her. He's never been good at this emotional stuff.

Except anger.

Anger, he's good at.

Not too long ago, Laura had told him he had the thickest skin of anyone she knew. "Nothing ever gets to you," she said, like it was a compliment. "You're like a rock. An island."

Derek told her to shut up with the poetic shit. What he didn't do was point out how wrong she was. Things got to him all the time – he just didn't see the point in making a big deal out of it. He learned pretty early after the fire that no one is interested in hearing about his pain. People would stop and ask him if he was okay, if he needed anything, but he always knew it was more out of a sense of duty than anything else. They didn't care, not really.

He never knew what his sister's coping methods were, if she had any to begin with – which now that he thinks about it, might have been a no. The house is eerily quiet. All this time he thought silence would be a welcome reprieve, but it's less comforting than he imagined. The house feels so much bigger and colder than it ever has. He starts for his room, only to end up in front of Laura's again.

He stands outside the door for a while, until he feels stupid enough for being scared of a fucking door he opened just a few hours ago and forces himself to open it and step inside.

This time he looks for the last signs of life. One of her pillows is askew, her favorite grey sweater is draped over the back of her desk chair. Other than that, nothing. Derek goes to her desk and picks up one the plastic bags. He notices a blank CD inside. There's no case for it, just the disc. As he slips it out of the bag, he realizes that must have been what she was listening to in the car stereo when he found her.

Derek turns the CD over in his hands. It's a normal blank disc, silver, with the words _Indoor Fireworks_ scratched across the bottom in black marker. He didn't recognize the handwriting, only that it was not Laura's. Hers was round and loopy and girlish and way too neat, while this one was scratchy and kind of sloppy, as if the person who was writing it was in some kind of a hurry.

He switches on Laura's stereo – she kept insisting on leaving it on her desk, even though she barely used it anymore – slides the disc into the tray and flips it to the first track. There are a few seconds of silence, and of all the things Derek was expecting to hear, Elvis Costello's voice wasn't one of them. He turns the volume of a few notches and stretches out on the floor, his back on the carpet, and listens. This is not Laura's music. She had always been more of a pop girl, making his life a living hell while growing up whenever she decided to listen to Britney Spears as far as the volume knob would go.

The next song comes on, heavy on the guitar, and Derek recognizes Jimi Hendrix's voice. He stays on the floor as one song blends into another one, and if the handwriting on the CD wasn't different from his sister's he might have thought she went through his music collection and made the mix herself. He can place most of the songs there – Bob Dylan, followed by Leonard Cohen, with a little bit of Bright Eyes and The Rolling Stones – expect for one. A woman singing about fire doors and lips that are not kissing.

Derek closes his eyes and tries to feel whatever Laura had felt in this. Which song was playing when she carefully, purposefully, popped sleeping pill after sleeping pill, those last moments of awareness before she was gone. More important, who made it in the first place? Did Laura ask for it?

Did it mean anything?

And then it clicks.

Every song he listened to was about fire.

The next morning Derek has to deal with the crazy amounts of flowers and cards covering every spare inch of the living room, but not before he downloads Laura's CD to his computer and syncs the playlist to his iPod.

He listens to it as he makes his way around the house, staring at the walls full of pictures he and Laura had taken over the years, as he moves the bouquets to Laura's room. He might as well leave it all there until he figures out what to do with them. He doesn't think the people in Beacon Hills will look kindly to finding out he threw all their flowers in the trash as soon as he could. It's when he accidentally kicks one of the flower bouquets under the bed and kneels on the floor to pull it back – otherwise he'll forget all about it when he's cleaning the room only to be reminded of it when he starts smelling rotting flowers sometime later ¬– that he finds a brown paper bag hidden there.

He stands up with the bag in hand and sits on the bed as he dumps its contents out into the bedspread. Two CD cases tumble out. One is a battered copy of _Led Zeppelin II_, the cover image faded around the edges as if someone had been running their fingers through it for years. The other is a copy of _Something Else_ by The Kinks, in a much better state than the previous one. Derek can't imagine Laura listening to this, mainly because these are the kind of bands he listens to, the kind she liked to make fun of him for liking.

"Why do you insist on listening to bands only old people like to listen to?" she'd joke. "Why don't you listen to something happier? Or from this decade, maybe? Like Adele. Or maybe that girl who doesn't care about price tags."

"I weep for your musical taste," he'd say. "I really really do."

He shakes the bag once more just in case he missed something the first time, and a piece of paper falls out. It's stamped with the Beacon Hills Library logo and at first Derek thinks it is just the invoice for a book she must have checked out from the library, until he sees a few words written over it.

L,  
Hope you liked my picks. Let me know what you think.  
–Your Favorite Person in the World

It's the same handwriting that was on the Fire CD before. And what bothers him the most about it is the signature. This person must have been close to Laura, and he has no idea who it might be. The most likely answer is that it must be someone in the library, so that's where he's headed once he grabs his leather jacket and the keys to the Camaro. It doesn't feel real that the car is his now. He always used to ask Laura for the keys before, and she'd eventually let him drive it after she made him promise he'd do the dishes for the week or laundry for the whole month. She could be devious when she put her mind to it, and her favorite victim had always been her little brother.

He walks into the library and is assaulted with the smell of old books and dust. It reminds him of his childhood. His mother and Uncle Peter used to have a love for books that resulted in the Hale house to have a huge library – shelves that went from the floor to the high ceiling stacked with all sorts of books, from children stories to the mystery books his Aunt Maggie liked so much to books about physics or in other languages or the occasional one about gardening that liked to appear every once in a while.

He's about to make his way to the information desk, hoping to find someone who knows about the note he found in Laura's room or who the handwriting belongs too when he walks straight into something. Or rather someone walks straight into him.

"Oh my God," the person gasps. "I am so sorry. I totally did not mean to walk into you but I wasn't looking to where I was going because Agnes gave me a list of books I'm supposed to check if are still here and I was reading that when suddenly you and…"

And as Derek would recognize that nonstop chatter and molten gold eyes anywhere, he only arches an eyebrow in response.

Stiles is staring at him as if only now realizing who he is.

"Hi, Derek."

"Stiles."

They stand there staring at each other for a few seconds without saying anything, and Stiles starts shifting from one foot tot the other, clearly uncomfortable probably due to the lack of words being spoken rather than by being in Derek's presence – or so Derek hopes.

Not that he'll admit that to himself. Nope.

"So… Is there something I can help you with?" Stiles ask, startling him out of his thoughts.

"Is Agnes here?"

"Dude, you just missed her. But I'm here," Stiles said, gesturing to himself. "And I can be of assistance. As long as it doesn't involve getting into Agnes' office to steal the tequila bottle she keeps hidden under her desk. I already tried that once, and it didn't end well for anyone. Especially me, who had to re-stack all the heavy history books that smell like the inside of my grandma's closet."

"Don't call me dude," Derek stared at him in silent amusement. He could ask Stiles about the note, but something in him told him he shouldn't. Still, he hadn't come here just to turn back around because Agnes wasn't there.

"Sorry," Stiles replies, not sounding sorry at all.

"You said something about a list of books?"

"I guess the girl who works afternoons here forgot to check in a few books that were delivered, and for some reason the task to make sure they are here falls to me."

"I could help you, if you want," Derek offers. Because Stiles knew Laura, he might know something about why she did what she did. But even if he had no idea, he could still talk about her. Maybe tell Derek stories about how she was while she was volunteering here, if she had a hard time making the kids settle down whenever she came for readings. Stiles might give Derek new insight on the person his sister was, about a side of her he hadn't had a chance to meet.

"Man, no. You don't have to," the boy starts, only to be interrupted by Derek.

"I don't mind. I have nothing better to do, and Laura loved this place."

At that, Stiles gaze softens. He looks down at the paper in his hands, then back at Derek and smiles.

"Okay, then. Follow me."

And that's how Derek spends his morning, helping Stiles go through various shelves of books trying to see if everything is where it should be. As the books that are on the list are found, Stiles crosses them off with a red sharpie, chewing on the cap as he moves from one shelf to the next one.

Derek finds himself surprised that Stiles managed to stay quiet for most of the time. He thinks the boy would have tried to fill in the silence as often as he could, even if what he said made absolute no sense to the people around him, but that wasn't the case. Stiles stays focused on the task at hand, and when Derek makes a comment about it Stiles just shrugs and says he has always been good at finding stuff.

It isn't until they aren't able to find a new copy of Neil Gaiman's _Good Omens_ that the little peace Derek had been feeling until then is shattered. Stiles has his foot propped in one of the shelves, the list of books over his knee as he writes 'NOT FOUND' in red right beside the book title.

It is the handwriting.

Stiles handwriting matches both the CD and the note Derek found in the bag.

"Well, I guess we're done. We found all the books but this last one," Stiles folds the paper and stuffs it in his pocket.

"Yeah," Derek answers, his voice tight. "I should probably go. I have some _indoor fireworks_ I want to buy."

Not the smoothest hint drop ever, but it gets his point across. Stiles' head snaps up so fast Derek is surprised it didn't come flying off his neck. He knows he's got it right with that one, even if he's not sure what it means. Stiles mouth opens, but if he says anything, Derek doesn't hear it because he's already half way down the book aisle.


	3. Faux Rebellion

It's been almost a week since the last time Derek saw Stiles, since he found out Stiles was the one who made the mix for Laura, but it's not like he's particularly avoiding the boy. He's actually been avoiding the rest of the town, too.

It feels weird walking around Beacon Hills, being out in the real world and not in the comforts of his house. How people are just living their lives like nothing ever happened, when he feels like his whole world was turned upside down without someone clearing it with him first. The very fact that the world is going on as usual, like everything is okay, makes him want to punch holes in walls.

Or people's faces.

And walking by places Laura used to go to or loved – knowing she'll never get to sit beneath a tree at the park with an old book, or walk through the woods on the nights she couldn't sleep, or how she'll never walk down the high school hallways screaming at teenagers to get to class already or else – leaves him with a tight feeling in his chest.

Sometimes places hurt you more than people ever could.

So of course the one day he feels like he can go outside again without having an anxiety attack is when everything goes wrong.

Or incredibly right.

He drives the Camaro to his and Laura's favorite coffee shop, because the one downside of being stuck at home for the past week is that he misses his coffee and pastries, dammit. He enters the shop just to be greeted by the owner's narrowed eyes as she stalks to where he's frozen by the door.

"Well, if it isn't Derek Hale," Ruth says as she comes to a stop right in front of him.

The reason Derek and his sister liked Ruth's coffee shop so much had a lot to do with the fact that she had been really good friends with their mom, and also had taken up to keep them fed after the fire. The first few months were hell for both of them and Ruth was a godsend, bringing them food, helping them with the funeral arrangements, lawyers, occasionally laundry, and then lecturing them on getting off their asses and do something.

"I know what happen to both of you was horrible, and that I'll never fully understand what you two are feeling, but you still have each other. That's what you need to focus on," she told them. "That and the pile of dirty dishes in the sink that I will not be washing, by the way."

That's the push they needed, or Laura did. She started taking charge of things again, instead of lying in bed and staring at nothing like both of them had been doing up until then. So having Ruth stare at him like that makes Derek feel like a five year-old being scold for doing something wrong.

"Ruth," he says, his eyes cast down. Derek will never admit this to anyone, but Ruth kind of scares him. In a way only his mother, and later Laura, did.

"I know why you haven't been around here lately, and I understand. But I want you to know I think it's bullshit."

Derek's eyes snap back to her at that. Ruth was always one to tell things like she sees them, never one for many pleasantries or sugar coating things. It was one of the reasons Derek liked her so much, expect for when she decided to call him on his shit.

"You're not the only one who lost her, honey," Ruth's hand comes up to rest on his shoulder. "And I sure as hell don't want to lose you because you feel like maybe you don't have a place here anymore."

He opens his mouth, only to close it back up again. He thinks about denying it, that he didn't stop buy because he was busy, but she knows. He always felt like people only dealt with him because of their affection for Laura, because he was her little brother and she was always so nice to everyone. Ruth knows and she's right by saying that, and it's so damn infuriating how she always sees past Derek's actions and right into his head.

"I'm sorry," is what he settles for instead.

"The only reason I'm going to let this slide and not hit you in the head with a spoon for being an idiot is because you're like a son to me," the last statement said with a smile, and Derek gets that tight feeling in his chest again. "So why don't you sit down somewhere and I'll bring over your coffee?"

He nods at her and goes take a seat near one of the windows, his eyes to the door so he can see the street and whoever comes into the coffee shop. It doesn't take long for Ruth to come back with his food, and Derek really should know better by now than to think she'd leave him alone with it and go boss her employees around.

"Yes?" he asks when she sits across from him with a cup of coffee of her own.

"I want to know what you're going to do with Laura's ashes."

Derek almost chokes on his own tongue, but that's Ruth. Always to the point. Even if the point made you feel like you just got hit in the chest by a truck. His eyes stay glued to his coffee until he feels like he has some resemblance of control over himself.

"I'm taking them to New York."

The idea of running away to New York is like a silver strand of hope, this little, fragile thread tying him to the world, giving him a reason to have been left behind by Laura. Giving him a purpose.

"I think she would have loved that," and Ruth is smiling at him, and he feels human for the first time that week.

They sit together for a while after that, Ruth talking about everything but Laura, which Derek is grateful for, and him listening to her. In the week he locked himself up in his house, he missed Ruth. Not just because of her amazing coffee making skills, but because she didn't mind that he only occasionally contributed to the conversation with a few grunts or nods of his head. She knew he didn't really like talking, that he wasn't good with words, and she didn't mind.

He's making his way back to the Camaro when he spots a blue Jeep parked across the street, its owner reaching for something in the backseat. It's not until he's almost by his car that he catches a glimpse of a buzzcut and rosy cheeks, molten gold eyes staring his way, and lips shaping his name.

"Derek!" Stiles calls out to him.

Derek is on his car and driving away before Stiles can even cross the street.

It's late by the time Derek goes back to the house, after an afternoon of driving around and walking in the woods, stopping by the shell of what used to be his childhood home before it all burned down. Staring down at the remains of his life helped him keep himself grounded, just as much running through the woods used to help Laura. They decided to keep the house like that, not feeling really comfortable with tearing it down, and built a new one in the property so they could leave in.

He thinks about eating something, but after tossing out the foods he'd been giving at Laura's funeral, the fridge is bare; but he knows there's a bottle of Jack on the bottom drawer of one of the counters, mostly empty. He grabs the bottle and makes his way up the stairs. The idea of New York tugs at him again, it's just… necessary. He has to get out of this place before he suffocates. As this thought crosses Derek's mind, he's struck with the realization that maybe that's how Laura had felt all this time. Maybe that's why she did it.

Derek wishes she was here so he could ask, so they could talk. He wishes she was here, sitting by his side recounting some stupid argument she had with one of her student's mother, or complaining about how he'd always leave the toothpaste without the cap on or sitting out on the roof and staring at the stars with him.

He wishes she was here, but she isn't, and she'll never be again, and Derek has to get used to that.

Now he wrenches the window on his room up and slowly slides his legs outside, climbing out just enough to sit on the ledge with his bare feet flat on the slanted roof. He takes a swig from the bottle, liking the way it burns down his tongue and throat. Derek wonders if it'll always be this hard, to think about Laura, if he'll ever be able to remember her without feeling like his world is falling apart.

He goes for the bottle again. The air is hot and still, the breeze nonexistent. From his place on the roof he can see out into the woods, up to the sky, the stars…

If Derek closes his eyes it's almost like Laura is there with him, the way she used to be. He can see her perfectly in his mind – those slims arms wrapped around her knees as she pulls her long legs in close to her chest. She used to sit like that all the time, like she was trying to make herself as small as possible.

Maybe she was always trying to disappear.

He's sitting there, drinking and breathing in the mingled smells of cut grass and the woods and tar from the shingles, trying to remember, when suddenly a voice cuts through his thoughts.

"Hey!" Derek's eyes fly open to see Stiles, standing at the edge of his backyard and squinting up at him. "Enjoying your moment of faux rebellion?"

The unexpected intrusion nearly sends Derek plummeting off the roof and down to an early death. Or at least a few broken bones. Good thing his reflexes are what they are, and he quickly rights himself and glares down at the boy. The first thing he notices is that Stiles is wearing a long-sleeved red flannel shirt on top of a blue _Yellow Submarine_ t-shirt, even though it's warm outside.

"The only teenager here is you," he shouts, holding the bottle away from his face. "And get off my lawn!"

"I'm not a teenager! I'm of the legal consent age of eighteen years old and I'm not getting off your lawn," Stiles shouts back, "I'm going to stay right here until you get off the roof and come talk to me like a_ real boy_."

Derek keeps on glaring as he takes another gulp from the bottle. "What do you want?"

"We need to talk," he says, glancing around suspiciously. "Preferably in, you know, private."

"Are you afraid the owls will hear you?"

"Will you just come the fuck down already?"

Part of Derek wants to tell him to go fuck himself; the other part is curious to know what possible reason he could have for coming around and wanting to talk. Curiosity wins out in the end.

"Fine. Give me a minute."

Derek scoots back through the window, carefully wedging it back down, and then makes his way downstairs, past the living room and into the kitchen until he's standing by the back door. He opens it and goes outside. Stiles is leaning by the side of the house like the first time they met. So it only seems fitting when Derek sits on the porch steps.

"What do you want?" Derek grunts.

"I know what you're planning."

Derek stares at him. Because he has no idea what Stiles is talking about. Not that he does most of the time. So he tells him that much.

"Yes, you do know what I'm talking about," Stiles eyes are narrowed as he comes closer, face flushed with what Derek assumes to be anger.

And all Derek can do is look at him. Up close like this he gets a better view; there's no denying the fact that this kid is good-looking, in this lean muscle, not-in-total-control-of-my-limbs, oblivious kind of way. His eyes will never not impress Derek; they're sharp and it's like they can see straight through anything. But Derek doesn't want to be seen. He wants answers.

"Enlighten me."

Stiles snorts. "I'm talking about you. New York. And Laura's ashes."

"How do you know that?"

And it's only when he feels warm fingers on his wrist that he realizes he's up from the porch steps, standing in front of a very unsettled Stiles and gripping the boy's t-shirt in his hand. He abruptly lets go, taking a step back and crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"My buddy Danny works at Ruth's," Stile says, straightening his clothes.

"And didn't your buddy know that it's rude to spy on people?" Derek snaps back.

The thought of having someone listening in on his conversation with Ruth is not helping with Derek's control of himself right now. So it's a good thing when Stiles keeps talking and distracting Derek from how much he wants to hunt this Danny person down, grab by the shoulders and possibly throw him into a tree.

"I'll have you know Danny is the best person, ok? And, yes, there was the one time he was arrested for having insane computer skills and doing a little hacking. But the charges were dropped! And since he's actually made of sunshine and rainbows, he would never ever spy on anyone out of his own free will. So I sort of promised I'd bake him his favorite red velvet cake if he kept an eye on you and, you know, casually listened in on whatever conversation you might have."

"Red velvet cake." Because apparently that's what the price for listening in on Derek and risking getting caught and beaten to a pulp must be.

"It's one of my secret talents. Baking. Only it's not so secret since all my friends take advantage of me because of it."

"Why are you here Stiles?" Derek asks, running his fingers through his hair. As much as he doesn't mind the kid's endless chatter – Stiles reminds him of Ruth that way -, he's not in the mood for it tonight.

Stiles looks him in the eyes intently. "I'm going with you."

"No."

"Look, man, I have to go to New York anyway at the end of the summer because I got into NYU and I know you don't understand and I guess never even knew any of it but I knew Laura and we were – we were friends, okay? And I know the reason you're going to take her ashes to New York is because she loved it there, and I'm going with you."

"You don't know anything," but Stiles is right. Derek doesn't understand it, any of it. How this kid could have known Laura better than he ever did.

"I know most people brush it off as Laura being my teacher, but it was more than that, okay?" Stiles tone has gone serious, and Derek recognizes it. It's the tone of someone who gets it. "We talked. About my mom. When I couldn't talk to my best friend because he had his head too far up his own ass, or when my dad buried himself in his work or in a bottle just like the one you were drinking up there. She listened. She understood."

Derek doesn't know what to do with any of this. He doesn't want to know about how Stiles is just as broken as he is, how they've both seen death and how they carry it with them, woven deep into their souls, making it part of who they are.

"She's the reason I applied to NYU. She was kind of a mentor to me, you know? The hyperactive ADD kid. She never gave up on me, and that's why I'm going with you. Because I'm just not ready to give up on her too."

Derek stares, and he'll probably regret every minute of this.

"We're taking your Jeep."


	4. Entertainment

Derek agrees to pick Stiles up at the end of the boy's shift at the library to discuss how exactly they are going to do this. Stiles left not long after Derek said yes to let him tag along, and they were already on board with using the Jeep – 'Her name is Jessie' Stiles had told him – for the trip. It had more space than the Camaro, and that would be a good thing in case they decided to sleep in the car for a few nights.

Stiles is already waiting when Derek parks the Camaro outside of the old building, wearing his uniform of flannel shirts over band tees – blue flannel over an AC/DC tee with an Angus Young holding an apple and _Teacher's Pet_ written across it in yellow and pink, and Derek can't help but think Laura would have gotten a kick out of that, if she ever saw it.

"We need to make a stop," Stiles tells him as soon as he gets into the passenger seat and closes the door.

"Stiles."

"Derek," he says, and taps his fingers on the dashboard when Derek doesn't respond. "Come on, it's just a stop. It won't take five minutes. I just need to stop by _The Mothership_ and pick up a few CDs and then we can go eat and plot our way through America."

_The Mothership_ was Beacon Hills' record shop. It had been renovated and had its name changed when its old owner died, leaving the shop to one of his grandsons. They had a pretty good selection of music people came in to trade or sell, and Derek had to admit he had spent more of his time there going through stacks of CDs and old vinyl copies for something to buy than he'd like. And if the band t-shirts Stiles wore all the time were any indication, the boy did too.

"Five minutes."

"Awesome," Stiles beams at him.

It's a little bit unsettling to see Stiles smiling. His smile changes and lights up his whole face, making him about ten times more attractive to Derek. He pretends that's because no one has looked at him that way for a long time without expecting something in return, and not because Stiles gets this glint in his eyes or how his teeth sometimes bite down on his lower lip, as if he's trying to keep himself from bursting out of happiness.

The drive to the record shop is a short one, with Stiles chattering mindlessly about his morning at the library from 'there was this girl reading John Green's _The Fault In Our Stars_ and I knew it would happen but it was still so awkward when I had to go bring her tissues and ask her not to get her tears all over the book' and 'Mr. Harris stopped by and had me running around the library after all this ridiculously old and heavy books and man I hate him so much' to things Derek absolutely did not need to know about ever 'Coach Finstock came in asking if we had a copy of _Fifty Shades of Grey_'.

As they come to a stop in front of the store, Stiles slides off the passenger seat and starts walking towards the front door. Derek turns off the ignition, grabs his jacket from the backseat and follows him in.

"Dude, you could have stayed in the car," Stiles tells him when he notices Derek walking beside him.

"Stop calling me dude."

The store is so crammed with music and people that it's sometimes difficult to squeeze through the aisles. Everywhere are carts filled with CDs, vinyl records and cassette tapes, with handwritten signs plastered on the walls categorizing everything by genre, and even those are divided with subcategories.

Derek starts walking around the store while Stiles goes off to find whatever it is he's looking for. He has always preferred listening to music on vinyl over any other way – even though he ends up buying everything digitally later too -, because that's what he grew up with. With his parents listening to his dad's old records and dancing around in the living room, or those sunny Sunday mornings when his mom would wake him up by putting on The Beatles' _Abbey Road_ and singing along to the songs.

Going to _The Mothership_ with Stiles ends up being a good idea when he finds a used copy of The Rolling Stones' _Sticky Fingers_ with the zipper cover. The record is in pretty good condition, so he makes his way to the cash register to pay for it and wait for Stiles in the car. He's reaching for his wallet when Stiles stops by his side, holding two CDs in his hand.

"Thank fuck I found this copy of _Sawdust_. Scott, totally breaking the bro code by the way, lost mine," Stiles places the CDs on the counter, and Derek is pleasantly surprised to see that the second one is _Brothers_ by The Black Keys. But then the boy is reaching for his purchase and asking, "What do we have here?"

Derek tries to reach for the vinyl first, but Stiles sneaky fingers are faster. He turns the record to look at the cover, and gets this soft smile on his face. He looks up at Derek and down at the record again, tracing his fingers up and down the zipper on the front of it.

"My mom was a big Stones fan," Stiles says, giving the record back to Derek's outstretched hand. "I think her favorite track on that one was Wild Horses. Or maybe Moonlight Mile, I don't really… remember."

Derek stares at him for a beat or two before he says, "Those are good songs."

Stiles looks at him at little surprised and then breaks into that beam of his, even though Derek can still see the lingering grief in his eyes. Stiles' mom died about ten years ago, and if you look close enough you can still see the sadness whenever Stiles talks about her, how he has to stop and get a hold of himself every time he shares a little bit about who and how she was, or their memories together. Derek understands, because when he thinks about his family all he ever smells is smoke.

He tries not to think about Laura at all.

"Yeah, they really are," the boy says. "Now, let's go. I am _starving_."

Stiles pays for his things and they go back to the car. They haven't agreed on a place to eat, so Derek just drives to where it feels right: to Ruth's. And taking the way Stiles almost jumps from his seat out of excitement into the street, he did good.

"Dude, I love this place! And not just because Danny works here and sometimes gives us free coffee or pastries, or because they make breakfast food all day, even though that'd be a good enough reason alone for loving any food establishment, but the name. You can't expect me not to fall in love with a coffee shop called _Bean Me Up_. They'd revoke my nerd card otherwise."

"Your nerd card?"

Stiles shrugs, "I am who I am."

They walk into the shop and Stiles directs them to one of the empty tables, sprawling himself in one of the chairs with so little grace you'd expect it to fall back on the ground with him in it. Derek is patiently waiting for the day he'll see Stiles trip on his own feet and faceplant somewhere.

A boy about Stiles' age with tanned skin and the deepest dimples Derek has ever seen walks over to their table, eyes going between Stiles to him and back to Stiles again.

"Hey, Stiles," the boy says.

"Danny, my man," Stiles gets up to hug him, then turns around and points at Derek. "Danny, meet Derek. Derek, this is Danny. Now, Derek, if you'd stop frowning and looking serial killer-y and maybe cracked a smiled sometime, you might make some friends."

Derek just rolls his eyes and nods at Danny, who he notices is looking at him a little bit wide-eyed and terrified. "Wait," Derek starts when Stiles opens his mouth again. "Danny. The one you asked to listen in to my _private_ conversation with Ruth, with the promise of baked goods if he was successful. _That_ Danny."

Stiles gapes at him, and Danny inches a little bit closer to Stiles. Derek just looks at both of them, secretly amused and waiting to see what they'll come up with. He also sort of gets a kick out of the fear both boys must be feeling. Like, at any moment now, Derek might get up from the table and kick their asses.

"I'm really sorry, Derek," Danny says, smiling apologetically and showing off his dimples. "But no one can resist an opportunity to eat Stiles' cakes."

"Damn right," Stiles looks so proud of himself right then Derek wants to roll his eyes again.

Seeing Danny is still using Stiles as his own personal shield, Derek turns to him, "Don't do it again. Even if he promises you cakes. Or talks you to death."

"Hey!" Stiles protests at the same time Danny says, "I won't."

Stiles sits back down, and Derek can't believe he's actually pouting. Like having his own personal spy compromised was the saddest thing to ever happen to him.

"Stop pouting," Derek tells him.

"I'm not pouting!"

"You are," Danny says. "And as cute as you look while doing it, Derek's right. You should stop. It's not going to work. I won't spy for you anymore. I'd rather have Broody Dark and Dangerous here on my good side."

Derek is just about to tell Danny that _no, absolutely not_ when Stiles throws his arms up and announces, "I knew I was attractive to gay guys!"

"Please," Danny snorts. "You knew that since the time we all got drunk at Lydia's birthday party two years ago and you made out with half the band she hired to play."

"What? They were the entertainment. I was entertained."

Derek just looks on between them with his eyebrows almost up to his hairline, because he is not prepared to deal with this information. To have confirmation that Stiles is gay - or at least not that contrary to the idea of hooking up with guys - and then to realize that they will be spending the foreseeable future packed together in a car almost makes Derek want to cancel the whole thing on the spot.

Or just really thank the universe for this opportunity.

Stiles sits back down, but he doesn't make eye contact with Derek again as Danny takes their orders and leaves with a wave and saying he'll be right back.

"So," Derek doesn't like Stiles not looking at him. It makes him nervous, for some reason.

"Is it going to be a problem?"

"What?" Derek asks, because he has no idea what Stiles is talking about.

"Me? I mean, me liking guys too. Is that going to be a problem? Considering we'll be spending a lot of time together this summer and all that."

Derek takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly through his nose. "No, Stiles. It's not going to be a problem," and then he adds, "As long as you don't have a problem with it too."

"Of course I don't have a problem with it. I mean, why would I have a problem with me liking guys? That's would be stu-" and Derek can see the moment it all clicks together in Stiles' head and the boy looks up at him, finally meeting his eyes. "Oh."

"Yeah. _Oh_."

"I didn't. I mean. You and. I had no," this time it's Stiles who takes a deep breath, Derek being graced by the faint blush in the boy's cheeks as he gathers his thoughts. "No, man. It's _definitely_ not going to be a problem."

"Good."

"You don't look the type, though."

"Type?" Derek narrows his eyes. He's used to it, people assuming he's straight – or just assuming things, really - just because of the way he looks. It doesn't mean he likes it any less.

"To like guys," Stiles says with a thoughtful look on his face. "Although the fact that you're ridiculously attractive should probably be a warning, you know? The hot ones are usually taken, which I know you're not because hey small town, or they are…"

"Gay," Derek finishes the sentence for him. He thinks about calling Stiles on saying he's _ridiculously_ attractive, but that's a can of worms he's not ready to open just yet.

Danny comes back with their food just then, conversation put on hold as they eat in silence. Mostly in silence, expect when Stiles takes a bite from something and makes the most unbelievable noises.

"I want to leave on Friday," Derek tells him after they've finished eating.

"For New York?"

"No, for the mall," Derek deadpans. "Yes, New York. What else would I be talking about?"

"Friday," Stiles rolls the word in his mouth like he's testing it out. "Okay, I think that's doable. I just have to let Agnes know I will be leaving sooner than I thought. A lot sooner. But, yeah, we can leave Friday."

"Is your dad going to be okay with you leaving?" because the last thing Derek needs is having the Sheriff after him thinking he kidnapped his soon.

"He'll understand," Stiles smirks. "Plus, I'm already eighteen. There's nothing he can do, not really."

"He can make our lives difficult."

"He won't. I'll talk to him. And like I said, he'll understand why I want to go."

Derek thinks he will, too. The Sheriff is a good man, he trusts his son and Stiles is right, he will understand.

They both go over the specifics of Friday's departure, and as they outline the plans, the knot in Derek's stomach winds tighter and tighter. This isn't some vague idea in his head anymore; it's becoming more and more concrete. He's really going to do this, and Stiles will be there with him.

"I can't believe this is actually happening," Derek mutters. And he doesn't mean just this – the trip to New York – but everything that has changed in his life since Laura.

"Yeah, I know," he hears Stiles whisper in response. His expressions changes, then. There's something there – understanding, maybe?

They don't have much to talk about after that, so they pick up their things and leave. Stiles makes sure to leave behind a good tip for Danny.

"Do me a favor," Derek tells Stiles as he stops in front of the Sheriff's house. "Try and pack light."

Stiles wrinkles his nose, "I hate packing."

Derek rolls his eyes, "Tough shit."

Stiles laughs and closes the car door behind him, stopping at his front door to turn around and wave at Derek, "See you later, Derek!"


	5. A Broken Hallelujah

**A/N:** warning for mention of recreational drug use.

* * *

The rest of the week up until Friday is uneventful. He doesn't really see Stiles, and seeing as they didn't exchange numbers he doesn't talk to him too. They both know where the other lives, so Derek thinks if Stiles wants anything all he has to do iss stop by his house.

He doesn't, not until Friday.

Seven o'clock, the time they agreed to meet, rolls around faster than Derek realizes. Stiles will be here any minute now. Derek's duffel and an old backpack, both stuffed so full they barely zip all the way, sit in a pile on the floor.

All he has to do now is take the urn.

Carefully, he puts his hands around the cold marble and lifts it off the mantel. He holds it close to his chest and makes his way slowly, cautiously, to the front door.

It's dark outside, the front porch light emanating just enough light for Derek to make out shapes in the dark. Stiles' Jeep is sitting a few yards ahead and Derek can barely see the way Stiles is leaning by the door.

"About damn time," Stiles says when he finally comes closer. "Where's your stuff?"

"First things first," Derek looks pointedly at the urn in his arms. 'You mind-?"

"Oh. Yeah, sure."

Stiles opens the driver's door, hops in and Derek can see him arrange a few blankets between the seats. When he reaches for the urn, he looks at Derek for permission first, and then takes it in his hands and swaddles it in the blankets so it won't move. Clearly he's giving some thought into this. Derek goes back for his things, throws them into the back seat, and gets in the car.

Stiles' Jeep smells like the woods – probably from driving with his windows open all the time –, coffee and, strangely enough, cotton candy.

"Why does your car smell like cotton candy?"

"Oh, sorry about that," Stiles says, not sounding sorry at all. "Lydia dropped a bottle of her moisturizer in here and it exploded everywhere. I'd try to get rid of the smell, but I kind of like it."

The floor of the Jeep is also covered with CD cases. Stiles pulls out on the road, and as he drives, Derek pops open the glove compartment. It's overflowing with more CDs and cassette tapes.

"Sure, feel free to go through my stuff without asking first," Stiles huffs.

"Thank you, Stiles. That's very nice of you."

Stiles looks back at him, surprise evident on his face. Derek has to admit he's a little bit surprised with himself too, since he doesn't usually joke around with people.

"You're welcome," Stiles smirks at him, and then turns the radio on. "Well, this is oddly fitting."

"You think _Thunder Road_ is oddly fitting for this situation?" Derek would really like to know what goes on in Stiles' head half the time.

"You know Bruce Springsteen?"

"I should be asking you that question," Derek answers. "My Uncle Peter was a fan."

Stiles hums in acknowledgement, but doesn't say anything else. The song changes, and after a few seconds Derek finds himself singing along that ain't no grave can't hold his body down.

"I didn't know you were a Johnny Cash fan," the boy says.

"You'd have to have no soul to not like Johnny Cash."

Out of the corner of his eye he can see Stiles smiling, as they race down the street, each mile taking them farther from Beacon Hills – and to Laura's last chance at salvation.

Maybe it's Derek's last chance, too.

After a few minutes of driving Stiles informs Derek they need to make a stop - something about one of Stiles' friends having something he needs to pick up. They pull over a house and park behind an old truck and Derek can see a bike thrown over the overgrown bushes in the front yard.

"Hey, Stiles," the boy who opens the door is tall, with blue eyes, a flop of blond curls and a shy smile. He looks familiar.

"What's up, Isaac," Stiles leans in for a hug. "Isaac, Derek Hale. Derek, this is my friend, Isaac Lahey."

The Lahey kid. That's why he looks familiar. A couple of years ago Laura had come home from the school looking like she was about to tear someone's limb off. After a lot of ice cream, Derek finally managed to convince her to talk to him about what got her so angry.

"His dad is abusing him," she told him. "At first I thought the bruises were from lacrosse practice, but the locations aren't right. And there were so many of them."

Laura had set about trying to get help for Isaac, to take him out of his dad's care and into a safe place, but as it turned out she didn't need to do much of anything. Isaac's dead died in a car crash not long before Laura found out about him beating his son. Isaac was emancipated, and Derek always figured he must have been living in the house that was left for him. He guessed right.

Isaac's eyes widen a bit at the mention of Derek's name, but he doesn't say anything as he steps aside to let them into the house. It's not much, a few old pieces of furniture that must have been there from the time Isaac's dad was alive, but by the empty space you can notice he got rid of a lot of things. What stands out the most is one of the walls - covered by shelves stacked with books, vinyl records, CDs and DVDs. Of course Stiles' friends would be as obsessed with music as he is. And as Derek is too, but no one needs to know that.

"So," Isaac says, clapping Stiles on the shoulder and smiling. "I have something for you."

"I told you, I don't smoke weed anymore."

"Ugh, it's not that. Let me go get it."

Isaac disappears from the room, and Derek arches a brow at Stiles. "Weed?"

"Please don't tell my dad," Stiles turns his whisky eyes at him.

"I won't tell your dad," Derek says. "Just… Weed, Stiles?"

"I know, right? Sheriff's son, no one would have expected it. It just. It calms me down, man."

Derek snorts at that, but before he can say anything Isaac reappears with a plastic crate. He leafs through it and removes a vinyl record.

"This," he says, presenting it to Stiles with a flourish, "is for you."

Stiles takes the record and glances down at it. When he looks up at Isaac, his eyes are wide with disbelief. "Dude."

"I know."

Derek peers over Stiles shoulder at the album cover. It's a Jimi Hendrix LP- and the cover is signed in black pen. _Love always, Jimi_.

"Wow," Derek says, just as Stiles explodes, "Holy shit!"

"Yeah," Isaac rubs the back of his neck with one hand. "I found it when I was going through some old stuff. I think it was my Grandpa's. He was all about the music."

Stiles shakes his head and tries to shove the record back at Isaac. "Dude. No. I can't take this."

"Yeah, you can," Stiles opens his mouth but Isaac continues. "I owe you. It might have been two years ago, but I still feel like I haven't paid you back for all you did for me. This is as close as I can get to it. So take it."

"Isaac, man," Stiles shakes his head. "You don't have to-"

"Stiles," and Derek is impressed with how much of a puppy Isaac looks like right now. Blue eyes big and imploring staring at Stiles.

"Fine, I'll take it. Just stop with the puppy dog eyes already."

Isaac smiles smugly at them, and excuses himself to answer the phone when it starts ringing. Stiles is staring at the record with a reverent expression, tracing his long fingers through the cover and the autograph written in black across it.

"You must mean a lot to Isaac," Derek comments. "It's not all day a friend gives you an autographed record of Jimi Hendrix."

Stiles turns to look at him, his expression serious. "I helped Isaac out after his dad passed away. He stayed with me and my dad for a while until all his emancipation paperwork was worked out, and then I helped him get rid of most of the things in the house."

"What do you guys think about the beach?" Isaac asks, stepping into the living room.

Stiles looks back at Derek, who shrugs. "What of it?"

"Everyone is up at Erica's beach house. Bonfire. Wanna tag along?"

The nearest beach is two hours away and a little bit out of their way, but, "Sure, why not?"

"You might wanna grab a jacket," Stiles tells Derek when they get to their destination. "It tends to get kind of windy."

"I don't get cold that often."

"Okay, man. Whatever," Stiles says, reaching behind him to grab for one of his bags. They get out of the car just as Stiles is zipping up his red hoodie.

Stiles is right; it's cool outside, but nothing Derek needs to worry about just yet. He hears the waves the moment they step onto the back deck. There are plastic fold-up chairs leaned against the side of the house, so they each pick one up and make their way down the stairs, through the grassy weeds and onto the beach. He can see the bonfire a couple of yards down.

Derek can hear a few people talking, but he gets distracted by the person running straight towards them.

"Stiles!" a boy with messy brown hair and the goofiest grin Derek's ever seen tackles Stiles, both falling down on the sand, clutching each other and laughing.

"Ugh, Scott. Get off!"

Scott steps back, extending a hand to help Stiles back up, only to hug him again. "I missed you, man."

"Are you kidding me?! We saw each other, like, three days ago. You can't possibly miss me."

"You're my best friend," Scott says, looking like a kicked puppy that obviously didn't get the reaction he was looking for.

"Or you totally can. I missed you too, buddy."

At that, Scott's smile comes back full force and, without warning, he spins to face Derek and throws his arms around him in a suffocating squeeze. Derek hears Stiles gasp and try to get Scott away from him, and if he wasn't too stunned himself, he also might be trying to disentangle himself.

"Hey, man! I'm Scott McCall. Nice to meet you," staring at him, Derek can see how red his eyes are, and suddenly all the hugging makes a lot more sense.

"Derek."

"Cool," Scott nods, turning back to Stiles again. "Come on, man. Erica and Boyd are here. So are Lydia and Jackson and Danny too."

They walk closer to the bonfire, Scott leading them to the group, and Derek can see Isaac is already there. He recognizes Danny sitting next to a boy with styled hair, blue eyes and an angry look on his face. There's a girl right next to him, her feet propped on his legs, and she's wearing heels – why would anyone wear heels to the beach, Derek has no idea -, she has red hair and green eyes, eyes that are locked on Stiles, a knowing look on her face. Right across from them is Isaac, a girl with blonde hair and red lipstick - that if Derek didn't know better he would think she was Isaac's twin sister – is running her fingers through his blond curls and leaning back against a boy with the most serene smile Derek has ever seen.

Scott plumps down next to Isaac, giving him a kiss on the tip of his nose. The blonde girl gets up to hug Stiles, "Batman."

"Catwoman," Stiles says, squeezing her tight.

"Would you let go of Erica, Stiles?" the boy she was leaning on before says, never losing his calm expression. "I'd like my girlfriend back."

"Yes, Boyd. She's all yours."

Stiles goes to the red haired girl and kisses her on the cheek, "Lydia, my queen."

"Stiles," the evil glint in her eyes is still present, especially when she looks up at where Derek is standing. Derek thinks she looks a little bit like Laura did whenever she came up with a really difficult question for a test to give her students. It kind of scares him a little.

"Jackass," Stiles pats the boy next to Lydia on the cheek.

"It's Jackson, asshole," he looks even more angry now, if that's possible. Derek is kind of impressed.

And last, "Hey, Danny."

"Hey, Stiles. Derek," Danny says, a tentative smile on his face.

At that everyone's eyes focus on Derek, some as if only realizing he was standing there. Stiles comes up to his side and throws an arm around his shoulder. "Everyone, this is Derek. Derek, meet everyone."

"Hello, Derek," they all say at the same time.

"Everyone," he nods in response.

"Both of you sit," Lydia orders, and Stiles and Derek prop their chairs open and sit down.

Derek is a little bit worried they might start asking questions, or talk about Laura, but no one mentions anything. The conversation runs smoothly and Derek is grateful when no one treats him any differently, or looks at him like he might break down at any second. It's nice knowing Stiles has a good group of friends, considering what him and Isaac have been through. He doesn't know what the situation with the rest of them is, but they seem to understand.

Scott appears with a guitar out of nowhere, and when he notices Derek looking, he offers it to him. "Do you play?"

"Uhm…"

"Dude! You can play?" Stiles stares at him in surprise.

"A little bit," he says, trying to be nonchalant about it. Derek used to play all the time when he was a teenager, even more so after the fire. Music has always been some sort of escape for him.

"You should totally play something for us," Erica pipes up, Lydia and Danny nodding their heads in agreement.

Scott hands him the guitar, and Derek reaches for it hesitantly. He draws it in his lap, and slides his finger down the neck of the guitar.

Everyone goes quiet as he begins to play.

He can see the others recognize the song as their faces close off, and soon they're singing _a broken hallelujah_ right along with him.

Derek bends his face down, not wanting to watch as the emotions play through their faces. He doesn't want to know how Isaac sings to his hands, with his fingers tracing the back of his knuckles were you can see the white outline of an almost faded scar. He doesn't want to know how Boyd holds Erica in a tight grip as if she's the only thing keeping him here, or how Erica clutches the hems of her almost nonexistent skirt until her fingers turn white. He doesn't want to know about the empty look in Lydia's eyes, or how Jackson sings to the ground so no one has to see him breaking. He doesn't want to know that Scott and Danny are capable of other expressions other than smiles, the faraway look they get while they stare at fire. And he really really really doesn't want to know how Stiles sings to him, staring at him, unflinching and understanding, even as his eyes fill with tears for the ones they lost.

But it surprises him, that when he finishes singing, everyone bursts into applause.


	6. Top Three

**A/N:** warning for mentions of recreational drug use and supernatural and doctor who references! :P

* * *

Derek wakes up to the loud sounds of Sex Pistols' _Pretty Vacant_ and voices singing in the kitchen. After the impromptu jam session last night, they all decided to crash at Erica's. Derek wasn't too happy about it, but considering how everyone had been drinking or smoking as the night went on, it was a smart decision.

Last night there was some talk about the road trip Derek and Stiles were taking, but no one asked for the reason why. But after a couple of beers and some hits of whatever joint Scott was passing around, they somehow had all agreed to go to Vegas. Or Stiles and Derek agreed to veer off their path and tag along with the rest of the group as they went to Vegas. Apparently Danny was some kind of magic hacker wizard or something, so he had hooked them all up with the best fake IDs any teenager could ever have. If Derek hadn't been a little buzzed, he'd felt a little bit guilty about letting them all get away with this.

Derek gets up from the bed and goes searching for his pants, finding it on the floor near the door, but he can't see his shirt anywhere. He'll have to go down and back to the car to get one, because he and Stiles couldn't be bothered to haul their bags to the house when they decided to stay.

He finds Isaac and Scott in the living room, singing and jumping around, and figures they're to blame for the music. Erica and Boyd are sitting on the couch, holding mugs of coffee and looking amused. They all turn to look at him when he steps into the living room, but Erica is the only one that speaks.

"Stiles is outside," she gestures behind her.

Derek tilts his head in confusion, but follows in the direction she pointed. He passes Jackson, Lydia and Danny in the kitchen and bids them good morning. He doesn't miss the double take Danny gives his way, and how his gaze lingers on his abs.

He really wishes he had a shirt on.

He finds Stiles sitting outside on the patio, gazing down the dune and out at the beach. Derek sits down next to him.

"You want?" Stiles gestures to one of the coffee mugs resting between them.

Derek takes the mug and takes a sip, "Not bad."

"Yeah, I thought you'd be the kind of guy that would prefer his coffee black, so…" Stiles trails off when he finally looks at Derek. His mouth goes a bit slack, and he quickly turns his gaze back to the beach.

"Thanks," Derek says, his lips curving slightly up.

"So," Stiles says, changing the subject. "We all talked about it, and we know we were not exactly sober when the idea of Vegas came up, but the guys, Lydia, Erica and I thought it would be a good idea to go. You know, last hurrah before college and all. But we'll only do it if you're okay with it, since the only reason I'm even taking this road trip to begin with is because of you."

_Because of Laura,_ is what Derek thinks Stiles means to say. Thinking about it, a detour might be a good thing. It gives him more time to deal with things, with what he's doing.

"We can go," Derek agrees. "I've been looking for an excuse to try my hand at poker again."

"Yeah? Awesome!" Stiles beams.

They sit like that for a while, staring out at the beach, the waves higher than they were last night. Next to him, Derek can see Stiles stare at his feet and pick at his laces, rubbing a thumb across the toe of his red converse.

"I've been thinking," Stiles finally says. "About New York."

Derek takes another swig of his coffee, waiting for him to elaborate.

"Lydia already has an apartment in New York. Since, you know, her parents feel guilty for ignoring her half her life and now that she's moving half way across the country they decided to grow a conscience," Stiles takes a deep breath, and continues. "Anyways, we are going to be sharing that apartment since we're both going to NYU in the fall and she already said it's cool if we wanted to use it. So we don't have to rent rooms or anything, and as long as we keep everything clean."

It's good, knowing they'll have a place to stay there. Derek hadn't let himself think about actually getting to New York since this whole thing started. If he's being honest with himself, he's kind of dreading it. Having a place to stay means they're really doing this - not that they weren't before. It just seems more real this way. But he still has questions that need answering, and he hopes he gets them before they get to New York.

"That's good," he tells Stiles.

"Yeah? Awesome."

Derek turns to place his now empty mug back on the floor again, and he doesn't miss the way Stiles' eyes follow his movements, staring the ripple of muscles beneath his skin, and how he licks and bites down on his lower lip. Derek finds that he doesn't mind Stiles checking him out, as much as he didn't appreciate it when Danny did it in the kitchen.

And speaking of which, "Have you seen my shirt anywhere? I couldn't find it in the room."

Stiles eyes snap up to look at his face, and Derek can tell he's pursing his lips as if trying not to laugh. He's not being successful, though.

"Stiles."

"About that," Stiles chuckles. "When we were coming up to the house you kind of just took it off? Like it personally offended you or something? I have no idea where it ended up."

"Really."

"Yeah. No one ever told you that you have an aversion for clothing when you're high?"

The thing is that someone has. When Laura was eighteen and he was sixteen they used to go to the woods to drink and smoke and talk. They'd talk about nothing for hours and hours on end, they'd laugh and Laura would make fun of him when he started taking his clothes off because he felt like he was suffocating.

"Oh my god," Stiles says, "you're totally that friend that gets naked when he's drunk or high, aren't you?"

"No," Derek says, but it sounds weak even to his own ears.

Stiles bursts out laughing, head through back and mouth opened; he laughs with his whole body, his shoulders shaking. If Derek was the sort of person who used the word 'beautiful', this is what he would call Stiles then.

"Well, I'm glad that of all my friends that could be getting naked, you're the one that did. We might have some pretty awkward moments otherwise, like if Scott took his clothes off. There are just some parts of your best friend that you never ever want to see."

"I don't know if I should thank you or be offended in behalf of Scott."

"You? Offended? In behalf of Scott?" Stiles looks at him, amused.

"He has good weed," Derek shrugs.

"Here," Stiles is still smiling when he reaches a hand inside his pocket and pulls out the keys to the Jeep, "go get a shirt. I think we'll be leaving in about half an hour or so, when everyone's packed."

"Okay", Derek says, taking the keys from him and getting up. He can't help but feel a little nervous when he walks past the living room again just to have Scott throw his arms in the air and scream.

"Vegas, baby!"

For the drive to Vegas - which is going to be about eight hours -, Derek and Stiles take the Jeep, Isaac, Scott, Erica and Boyd get into Isaac's truck, and Lydia, Jackson and Danny pile up in Jackson's Porsche. Before they leave, Boyd gives Derek a CD.

"The Avett Brothers," Boyd says. "They're pretty good. And I know Stiles is a tyrant when it comes to playing music in his Jeep, but if he gives you any grief, just ask him how many Bon Jovi albums he owns. That'll shut him up."

"Thanks," Derek says, looking at the cover. It has the drawing of a bird and a heart in it.

"No problem," he shrugs. "By the way, we're sorry."

Derek looks up. "What?"

"About Laura," he explains.

"Oh," Derek says, and then, because he's been doing this for weeks, "Thank you."

"She was amazing. We really miss her," Boyd says, walking backwards to the truck.

Derek stays there, stunned. It makes sense they sent Boyd to talk to him, though. The boy had a calming presence, and they must have thought he was the least likely to get a bad reaction from Derek if he mentioned something.

True to Boyd's words, the second Derek gets in the car and goes for the stereo to replace the CD, Stiles starts bitching.

"Nope! No! House rules, buddy. Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole."

"Next thing you're going to say is that Bon Jovi is good on occasion."

Stiles just gapes at him, but Derek doesn't know if that's because he understood the reference, or because he called Stiles on being a Bon Jovi fan. Either way, he takes advantage of a too-stunned-to-move Stiles and changes the CDs.

Derek doesn't think Stiles is too opposed to the new music, considering the way his fingers are drumming on the steering wheel along to the song, which is just a guitar and a man singing. It's not the kind of music Derek would normally listen too - it tells a story, about love and hate -, but he likes it.

They've been on the highway for about half an hour when Stiles says, "We should play a game."

"No."

"Come on, it will be fun!"

"No, it won't," Derek says, because he was perfectly fine with being quiet and just listening to Boyd's CD, without talking. Or playing games. Or doing anything other than sit there and stare out the window.

"Don't be such a jerk," Stiles punches him in the arm.

"Fine," Derek says, rubbing the spot where Stiles' knuckles connected. It doesn't hurt, it just feels… warm. "What do you have in mind?"

"How about Top Three?" at Derek's look of confusion, Stiles explains. "It's a game Scott and I made up when we were kids. You have to list your Top Three in whatever category we're playing. Like, if you asked me my Top Three Favorite Foods, I'd say curly fries, bacon and apples."

"Apples?"

"I like the crunchy sound they make when I bite into them."

Derek stares at him for a few seconds, as if to see if what the boy is saying is serious. "You are the oddest person."

"It's a gift," Stiles' lips curving into a smirk.

The game kills two hours of driving, and Derek finds that he doesn't mind learning more about Stiles, and letting Stiles get to know him in return.

_Stiles' Top Three:_

_Favorite Superheroes: _"Batman, Iron Man, and my dad," Stiles says, smiling proudly at his last choice.

"So your favorite superheroes are geniuses, billionaires, playboys, philanthropists?" Derek asks, getting a laugh from Stiles. "And your dad? Did you ever tell him this?"

"Not since I was a kid?"

"You should," Derek tells him. "It's always a nice thing to hear."

_Favorite Movies: _"Pulp Fiction, The Avengers, and Mean Girls."

"Mean Girls? Are you serious?"

"It's Lydia and Erica's favorite. Plus, that movie is so fetch!"

"Stiles, stop trying to make fetch happen," Derek deadpans.

Stiles laughs so hard he almost rides them off the road.

_Favorite People: _Stiles gets quiet, and Derek knows he's taking his time to think about the right answer for this one.

"My dad, my mom," Stiles takes a deep breath, "and Laura."

Derek doesn't say anything.

_Derek's Top Three:_

_Favorite Things To Eat With Ice Cream:_ "Brownies, French fries, and more ice cream."

"More ice cream doesn't count!"

"I tell you I like to eat French fries with my ice cream, and that's what you focus on?"

"Yes, now pick something else."

Derek rolls his eyes before saying, "Strawberries."

_Favorite TV Shows:_ "Supernatural," Derek starts only to be interrupted by Stiles saying, "I knew it!"

"As I was saying… Supernatural, Doctor Who, and Say Yes to the Dress."

"No."

"Yes," Derek sighs.

"No way."

"It was Laura's favorite, okay? She liked seeing the dres-"

"You're a Whovian?" Stiles shouts.

_Favorite Places: _"The woods," and Derek can feel the ghost of a smile in his lips, "the passenger seat of the Camaro, and my house before the fire."

This time is Stiles who stays quiet.

When they get to their destination they're all tired and sore from being stuck in a car for hours. Between Jackson, Lydia and Derek's money, they all manage to get rooms in one of the many fancy Hotel Casinos in the Strip. Lydia, Jackson and Danny are sharing a room, so are Erica and Boyd, and Scott and Isaac, leaving Derek and Stiles to room together. They agree on resting for a while before hitting down the casino and hopefully making some money.

"Oh my god, I'm tired," Stiles says as soon as they enter their room, flopping down into one of the beds. "Ugh, this is so soft and fluffy and I'm never going to move again ever. No one can make me."

Derek's lips twitch at that, taking in the way Stiles is sprawled over the bedspread. He bumps his knee into one of the boy's feet, "Go to sleep. I'll wake you up once we need to get going."

"Thanks man," Stiles says, voice muffled by the pillows. "Just make sure I have enough time to take shower and get pretty."

Derek lies down on the next bed, iPod in hand, and puts his headphones in, not bothering to answer. For the next couple of hours he listens to his entire Imagine Dragons discography, occasionally stopping to listen to the soft sounds of Stiles snoring. He eventually gets up and goes take a shower to wash the sweat, Jeep and road smell off of him.

He forgers to get some clothes from his bag to take to the bathroom with him, so he comes out with one of the hotel's white towels wrapped around his waist. He figures he might wake Stiles up to take his shower, since it's almost time to go meet the others at the lobby.

"Stiles," Derek shakes his shoulder a little bit, trying to wake him up. "Come on, wake up."

"Don't wanna," Stiles bats his hand away.

"You told me to wake you up before we left so you could take a shower, so get the fuck up," Derek pokes him in the ribs, only to have Stiles let out a yelp and sit upright on the bed.

"Dude, no poking!"

"At least I got you up, didn't I? Now go take your shower. And don't call me-"

"_Dude_, I know," Stiles says, rubbing his eyes and then finally focus on Derek. "Dude, you're naked!"

"Don't call me- I'm not naked," Derek scowls. "I have a towel."

"Oh, like that makes it better," Stiles says, still staring. Derek's scowl deepens. "Oh-kaaay. I'm gonna go now. To the bathroom. And take a shower."

Derek huffs under his breath and picks up his bag, trying to find something to wear to the casino. He settles for his best pair of dark blue jeans, a red button down, and his worn out boots, glad he decided to pack more than just some faded shirts and Henleys. He doubts people in the casino would appreciate his old AC/DC _Let There Be Rock_ 1981 tour shirt. Stiles might like it, though.

The thought barely crosses his mind and then Stiles stumbles out of the bathroom only in his jeans. He has a towel over his head, trying to dry his hair off as best as he can, and Derek takes the opportunity to study him: his neck and chest are flushed, the way his jeans ride low on his hips, the little trail of hair from his bellybutton down to –

"Dude, this place has the best showers ever!"

Derek's snaps his eyes back to his things, only coming up when he feels Stiles by his side.

"What do you think?" Stiles asks.

He has on a black button down rolled up to his elbows and, "Is that a bowtie?"

"Bowties are cool," Stiles says, wiggling his eyebrows at him.

"Sure they are," Derek mutters, desperately concentrating on trying not to find Stiles hot in those clothes. "Now, come on. Let's go make some money."


	7. Casino

**A/N**: shout out to phoebe for being way better at poker than i am and helping me with this. also, this sort of turned into a casino crossover and i'm sorry?

* * *

Derek is a little worried about the authenticity of the fake IDs Danny made for everyone, but they must be as good as he says they are when everyone gets into the casino without any problems. They get some drinks, and soon everyone is off to do their own thing.

Isaac and Scott go to the coin slot machines, Erica goes to play Craps, Jackson tries his luck at the roulette wheels, Danny says something about male dancers or maybe a club and meeting up with them later, Derek and Boyd go in the direction of the poker tables, while Stiles and Lydia go play blackjack.

Laura had taught Derek how to play in high school, saying they might make good use of his ability to keep a stoic expression whenever he liked.

"You did not get the skill to wash your face off any emotions not to use it," she'd say.

"Use it?"

"Do you have any idea how much money we could be making at Carter's weekly poker tournaments if you knew how to play?"

As it turned out, the answer was _a lot_. Laura had taken as her personal mission in life to teach him how to play, and he found out he was quite good at it. The first two years of Derek's high school career were basically spent playing, winning and dividing the money from the winnings with Laura. He has a slight suspicion that part of the money she used to pay for the Camaro came from those early games.

And that's why and how, hours after entering the casino and playing poker, Derek finds himself in a table with a guy he thinks must be part of the Yakuza, the other one with so many blings Derek gets a little blind whenever the guy moves and the light catches on a diamond, and a man who looks and dresses a lot like Robert DeNiro's _Sam 'Ace' Rothstein_ – which would make Derek snort if it wasn't for the fact that the possibility of the guy being a mobster might be true.

The dealer comes up and announces the big blind, 20 thousand dollars. It's the most Derek has played for. In high school he'd mostly stay in the hundreds, unless some new rich kid would come to play thinking they could win. He doesn't think it's the most these guys have played for, though, and that makes him a little nervous. Not that he's showing.

Derek taps his fingers on the table, "Check."

None of the others decide to open the betting round, so the dealer places another card on the table. Ace of hearts, eight of spades, six of spades, four of spades, and now an ace of spades too.

Derek taps his fingers on the table again.

Mr. Yakuza raises six thousand dollars, followed by Bling calling and raising five, making it up eleven thousand total. Rothstein calls and raises twelve thousand, the bets now up to twenty-three thousand, and Derek should really stop calling them that in his head, it's making it hard to concentrate.

He can feel Boyd staring at him from a few steps over, but his gaze is locked on the man in front of him. How it is possible to anyone look terrifying while wearing a pink suit, shirt and tie is beyond him.

"I call and raise fourteen thousand," Derek says, pushing thirty seven thousand dollars' worth of chips to the middle of the table.

He notices the ghost of a smile playing on Rothstein's lips when the man looks at his hand, "Well, I think I will call you on that one."

"Call," the dealer says. "Gentlemen, will you show your hands, please."

Mr. Yakuza turns his cards up, pushing in the direction of the dealer.

"Flush. Ace, king, queen."

Next up is Bling, throwing his cards forward.

"Full House. Ace full of eights."

Rothstein places his cards on the table. An ace of clubs and a six of hearts.

"A higher Full House. Six full of aces."

He looks back at Derek, who traces the edges of his cards with his fingers but doesn't move.

"Mr. Hale?" the dealer prompts.

Derek slides his cards over, turning them up. A five and a seven of spades.

"Straight Flush," the dealer says over the sound of people clapping. "Four to the eight. The higher hand."

Derek is still staring at Rothstein when the other man gets up from the table and walks away.

Derek is coming back from collecting his rightfully earned one hundred and thirty-three thousand dollars, Boyd walking silently by his side, when he's stopped by a hand on his shoulder. They turn around to find Rothstein and a couple of other guys standing there, stoned faced.

"Mr. Hale. I'd like to congratulate you on your win."

"Thank you," Derek says, and then adds, "It was a great game."

"It certainly was. You came out with more money than when you came in. And that is why I'd like you to leave."

Derek feels Boyd at his back, offering silent support, and it feels strangely nice knowing someone's got your back. Even though you've only met yesterday. Once again Derek is proud of Stiles' choice of friends.

"Don't think I don't know what you and your little friends are pulling? You see, this is my casino. I have business here and right now, with the stunt you pulled back there, and the way your red haired girl is counting cards like it's nobody's business, you're all standing in the middle of it," Rothstein says. "I'm gonna be nice enough to let all of you walk out of here with the money you owned, but if you don't do it soon you're gonna become a problem. And you know where problems end up? In a hole in the middle of the desert."

Rothstein stares at as if he's expecting some kind of acknowledgement, so Derek nods.

"I'm glad we understand each other," the man says, and walks away.

Derek finds Jackson first, grabbing him by the back of his neck and dragging him away from his game.

"What the fuck?!" Jackson says, trying to free himself of Derek's grasp.

Derek just turns to him, face blank, "They found out Lydia is apparently counting cards."

Jackson eyes widen, "Oh shit."

Derek narrows his eyes at Jackson, but doesn't say anything. Because with the way that the boy's eyes are wide and scared, it means he knows about it, and Derek is trying really hard not to do anything to him. Like throw him across the room and leave him here to deal with the mess.

One thing he's learned is that you never want to drag this kind of attention to yourself. You should never let people know how good you are at not losing, especially when other people's money is involved. They don't tend to take kindly to strangers stripping them of their cash, even if the stranger happens to be a pretty petit red haired girl.

They find Lydia in of the blackjack tables, but Stiles is nowhere in sight. Derek rushes to her and takes her by the arm, bending down to whisper in her ear, "I heard your counting cards."

He feels her stiffen, but she continues to look ahead and says, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"So I guess there's no problem with me leaving you and your boyfriend here to deal with it, and with the people who told me about you."

At that she turns to him, lips pressed tight, eyes scanning the room. "Who?"

"Guy in the offensive pink suit."

He sees her eyes settle at a point over his shoulder, and he assumes Rothstein must be there to make sure they're leaving.

"Okay," she gets up from the table, not bothering to turn around when the dealer calls out to her.

They get to Jackson, who's standing a few feet away staring angrily at his cell phone. Derek thinks he must have been trying to get a hold of Danny, but without any success - cell phone reception down here is not very good.

He's still holding on to Lydia's arm, so he tugs her back to him and asks, "Where's Stiles?"

"He went to get something to drink," she says.

"I'm gonna go find him," he tells her. "Boyd is with Erica, Isaac and Scott. Find Danny. Go back to your rooms, pack up your things, and get out of town."

She looks up at him as if wanting to argue, but decides against it at the glare he sends her. Derek thinks that's probably the smartest thing she's done today.

It doesn't take him long to find Stiles, who's sitting at the bar, drink in hand, talking to – or maybe flirting with? – a blond guy Derek immediately thinks is an asshole. Which is why he tries to convince himself that when he gets close to Stiles and puts his arm across the boy's shoulder is because he's trying to protect Stiles from the heartbreak, and not because he's jealous.

Stiles tilts his head up to look at him, but Derek cuts him off before he can say anything, "We have to go."

Stiles stares at him in confusion, but doesn't move. Not even to slip out of Derek's hold, "What?"

The guy sitting across from Stiles straightens in his seat and says, "If you'll excuse us, we were in the middle of a conversation here."

Derek ignores him, taking his arm off of Stiles' shoulder only to stand directly between Stiles and the other guy and place his hand on the boy's neck. Stiles is still looking confused as fuck, and Derek can see the beginning of a blush forming in his cheeks.

"We have to go," Derek repeats, but since the first time he said that didn't seem to compute, he adds, "Lydia got us in trouble."

That gets a reaction out of Stiles, but not what Derek was expecting.

"Oh, please," Stiles says, after bursting out laughing. "Like Lydia would ever get us in trouble. Most of the time she's the one getting us _out _of trouble. Now if you'll excuse me, Greg and I were talking."

Derek certainly does not appreciate the way Stiles bats his hand off, or how he is pushed aside so he's not standing in front of Greg anymore. And he gets really fucking angry at the smug look on the other man's face when that happens.

That still doesn't mean he's jealous.

Nope.

So it takes a few seconds for Derek to move, lowering his head so that his lips graze Stiles' ear, his breath hot against the skin of his neck, "They know about Lydia and the counting. So unless you want to wait and see what happens to her, I suggest you get your pretty little ass out of that chair, say goodbye to Greg, and come with me right the fuck now."

The words are barely out of his mouth when Stiles is jumping forward, and telling Greg it was lovely to meet him but that he has to go now. They get as far as the casino doors before Stiles starts talking.

"Okay, are they going to kick us out? Are they going to call the cops? Because that can't happen. If they call the cops, they'll find out our IDs are fake and then we'll all be in a world of trouble. Danny can't get arrested again, he needs to go MIT and become a vital point to the technology world so he can get me all the cool gadgets before they come out," Stiles was flailing his arms like crazy up until this point, and then he turns completely to look at Derek with terrified eyes. "And this will get back to my dad, and then he'll kill me. Derek, I don't want to be dead."

Derek just stares, because _how is Stiles even real_?

"Nothing's gonna happen to you," he says. "Everything is going to be okay as long as we get out of here as soon as possible, like I told the others to do. So let's go."

He takes hold of Stiles' elbow and ushers him in the direction of the elevators. It doesn't take long for them to get their things, for Stiles to call Lydia and make sure everyone is fine, and for them to get into the Jeep. Stiles insists on driving, saying no one but him will ever get their hands on his car, and Derek tells him to "Shut up" and "Drive already."

Derek doesn't miss the flash of pink as they get out of the hotel casino, or the way Rothstein smiles and waves as they drive away.

Stiles asks Derek to tell him exactly what happened, so Derek fills him in on how he won the poker game, Rothstein approaching him and Boyd when he was collecting the money and talking about Lydia and holes in the desert, how he found Jackson and Lydia and told them to get the others and leave, all the while being watched by Rothstein to make sure they didn't try anything. Stiles tells him he's impressed with his poker skills, and in return Derek tells him that he's impressed with his friends' skills of passing as harmless when they're in fact criminals. Stiles' only response to that is a smile.

They've been driving for a couple of hours when Stiles reaches for the glove compartment, coming back with a CD in hand. He pops it in the stereo and looks at Derek, "We're driving down the road. Alone. At night," and presses play.

Derek can't hold back a roll of his eyes as _(Don't Fear) The Reaper_ starts playing, "Are you serious?"

"What? It's an awesome song!"

"Sure, Stiles," Derek says, turning to face the window so no one can see him smiling.


	8. (Sad) Songs

**A/N:** have an extra chapter because CHRISTMAS!

**warnings** for a game of thrones reference ~

* * *

The sun is rising when they decide to stop for a while to get some rest, and Derek never thought he'd be this happy for the existent of side-road cheap motels. The room itself it's minimally furnished – two single beds, both looking like they've seen better days, a nightstand between them, and a television.

Stiles is still talking about how Derek called him a music snob when they were in the car – Derek had moved to change radio stations only to have Stiles bat his hand away and threaten to leave him by the side of the road – when they settle on the beds.

"You know," Derek says, tugging his boots off. "Just because you think bubblegum pop on the radio represents all that's wrong with society, that doesn't mean there's not someone out there who needs that shitty pop song. Maybe that shitty pop song makes them feel good, about themselves and the world. And as long as shitty pop song doesn't infringe on your rights to rock out, then who cares?"

Stiles shifts on the bed and looks at him.

"Okay, you may have a point," he concedes, a little reluctantly. His lips twitch like his trying not to smile, "And did you just say _your rights to rock out_? Dude."

"Shut up," Derek says, then asks, "Did you do this with Laura?"

He is sick of tiptoeing around the subject. He wants to know what Stiles know. He wants to know everything about her he missed out on.

"She was a good listener, and she understood," Stiles explains. "I made her mixes as thanks, I guess. Or sometimes she'd ask me to make some with a particular theme or word behind."

"Do you know if she liked any of it?"

Stiles looks at his hands and says, "Only the sad songs."

For a second Derek can't catch his breath. Stiles must take his silence as the end of the conversation, because he picks up the remote and flicks through the channels.

"Tell me about _Indoor Fireworks_," Derek says, after a few minutes of silence. Stiles doesn't look away from the tv, but Derek can see his the way his body tenses at the question. "Tell me."

"Derek," Stiles starts, but doesn't say anything else.

"Did you know that CD was playing in her car when she-" Derek can't say it. The words won't come out.

Stiles finally turns to look at him, his face pale and eyes huge. "What?"

"It was in one of the plastic bags they gave me," Derek answers.

If possible, Stiles looks even more miserable. Derek almost feels guilty about it, but he wants to know. He needs to know.

"She asked me," Stiles whispers. "She asked me if I could make a mix for her based on a word."

"Fire," Derek fills in, his insides twisting.

"I didn't-" Stiles hands are clenched in fists, his knuckles white, his chest moving rapidly with each puff of breath. "I didn't know."

Derek gets up from the bed, grabs the keys on the nightstand, and goes to sleep in the Jeep.

They don't talk, late that afternoon, as Stiles opens the driver's door and wakes Derek up from the place where he's slouched in the passenger seat. They don't talk as Derek notices how red and puffy Stiles are, and how the boy won't look at him. They don't talk as Stiles drives down the road to nowhere in particular. And they don't talk as he stops at a diner for food because he heard Derek's stomach growling.

They only open their mouths to order coffee and some food, and to talk about where to go next.

"We can either drive up to Utah, or go through Arizona," Stiles says, eyes glued to the GPS on his phone, refusing to look at Derek.

Derek doesn't even have to think about it, the word "Arizona" is out of his mouth before he realizes.

Stiles nods, "Would you like to see anything in particular?"

"Are you seriously asking me that?"

"The Grand Canyon it is," Stiles smiles a little. "And after that?"

Derek shrugs. "Can we decide later?"

"Yeah, dude. Whatever you say."

The waitress comes back with their food, and Derek thinks they'll go back to ignoring each other now that they have a destination in mind, but that's not what happens when, a while later, Stiles blurts out, "We were talking about dragons."

And that sounds so random all Derek does is blink. Because, really? Dragons?

"Well," Stiles says, obviously taking in Derek's need of an explanation. "We started the conversation by talking about A Song of Ice and Fire and how badass Daenerys is because of the whole _'I am Daenerys Stormborn and I will take what is mine, with fire and blood_' and the fact the she owns dragons, and how cool they are, man. And then that sort of evolved to just us talking about dragons in general and in history and old legends and fairy tales and whatnot. And when she asked me to make the mix about fire it just made sense given what we were talking about. I didn't even- it didn't cross my mind there could be any other reason for it."

Derek can tell the last words are hard for Stiles to say. He can hear the guilt and regret in the boy's voice, as if he should have known.

"Laura did that," Derek offers. "She was good at twisting things around in conversations so no one would suspect anything."

When Stiles still looks like he's blaming himself and reevaluating his conversations and interactions with Laura as if looking for something he missed that could have avoided this, Derek says, "It's not your fault. You couldn't have done anything. You couldn't have known," and "I'm her brother and I didn't know."

It's the first time Derek says the words out loud. It's the first time he admits he has no idea why she did it, that he didn't see it coming, that he didn't notice anything different about her. That he had absolutely no fucking idea.

"Hey," Stiles says, placing his hand on top of Derek's on the table. "It's okay. Well, I mean, it's not okay at all. This whole thing is pretty fucked up. But if it's not my fault, then it can't be your fault either."

Derek takes a deep breath, concentrating on the feel of Stiles' hand against his own. He wants to apologize for the way he acted last night and this morning, but he doesn't want to break the moment they're having. He settles for turning his hand, palm up, and intertwining Stiles' fingers with his own. He hears Stiles' sharp intake of breath, and takes in the small smile playing on his lips. They stay like that until a waitress comes out to collect their plates.

"So, do you wanna crash somewhere or hit the road?" Stiles asks, throwing some dollars at the table and getting up to leave.

"Are you tired?" Derek asks, instead of answering the question.

"Not really, no," Stiles says, wrinkling his nose. "With the going to sleep as the sun rose and drinking coffee just now, my sleeping schedule is going to be all kinds of fucked up."

"So what you're saying is that you're okay to drive all night again."

"That's exactly what I'm saying, yes," Stiles nods along.

"Then let's go."

They get into the Jeep, and Derek doesn't hesitate to turn the music on. It's kind of comforting the way Stiles still tries to bat his hands away, but will doesn't protest when _It's A Long Way To The Top _starts playing. Derek knows that probably has to do with Stiles being an AC/DC fan other than finally relenting control of the soundtrack to another person.

Just as they are pulling out of the side of the road, Stiles phone rings, the screen lighting up and the words 'Ginger Queen' flashing across it. Stiles picks it up and puts it on speaker.

"You're on speaker," Stiles says. "And now that we're not driving away for our lives, I'm mad at you."

"Please," Lydia's voice answers. "Like you could ever stay mad at me."

"Nope, this time I'm serious. Your genius got us kicked out of _Vegas_, Lydia. Do you know how hard that is? Being kicked out of an entire _city?_ And now I'll never get the chance to go back there for my 21st birthday, get blackout drunk and have Elvis marry me to one of the pretty bartenders."

"If that's what you want for your life, then I'm worried."

"Me too," Derek butts in.

They don't say anything at that, until the sound of Lydia's laughter bursts through the speaker.

"Oh, Scott asked me to tell you," Lydia says after she calms down. "He's fine, he's back at Erica's with Isaac, and that he'll call you later."

"By later you mean whenever he's sober enough to remember he ever said that in the first place?"

"Exactly," Lydia agrees. "And as for the casino, I'm really sorry but you know how my brain is. Counting the cards just came easy to me. Like math. And archaic Latin."

"And terrorizing people," Stiles adds.

"You know me to well. And as fun as talking to both of you is, Jackson is starting to get attention withdrawal, so I'm gonna go. Bye, boys."

"Bye, Lydia," they say in unison.

They sit in silence for a while until Derek says, "That's how her brain is?"

Stiles rolls his eyes and turns the ignition on, "Yes. That's how her brain is. Just like mine makes it impossible for me to shut up. We were just born this way, baby."

"For someone who bashes pop music every chance he gets, I'm surprised at the Lady Gaga reference."

"And I'm surprised you even got the reference in the first place," Stiles responds without missing a beat.

"Laura was a big fan," Derek shrugs.

"Scott is a big fan of dubstep," Stiles tells him. "Doesn't mean I listen to it."

"I doubt you listen to anything other than classic rock."

"And indie rock. Punk. Folk. Singer-songwriters. You know, _good music_."

Derek raises an eyebrow at that. "And Lady Gaga?"

"It's catchy! There's only so much Gaga you can avoid when you're friends with Erica."

"And yet you judge me."

"You're not friends with Erica," Stiles points out.

"I'm Laura's brother."

"_Was_," Stiles corrects.

"What?"

"Uhm… You said 'I'm Laura's brother'," Stiles says, shifting in his seat. "You _were_ Laura's brother. But not anymore. Because she's- you know, I'm gonna shut up now."

"No, Stiles," Derek sighs. "I _am_. Just because she's not here anymore doesn't automatically make me any less related to her than when she was alive. She's my sister. She'll _always_ be my sister. No matter what."

They're driving, the road dark and stretched out in front of them, Crosby, Stills & Nash's _Helplessly Hoping _playing in the background, when Stiles mutters, "No matter what."

They check in to a motel, and since he didn't get a chance to do this today, Derek goes take a shower. He has a pair of jeans in his hand, trying to find a shirt old enough to sleep in, when Stiles asks from his spot on the bed. "Do you wanna go get something to eat later?"

"Do you think there'll be anything open?"

"Sure?"

"Now say that again, but without the question mark."

Stiles rolls his eyes, "I'm sure there will be some place opened for us hungry travelers of the world."

"Hungry travelers," Derek would very much like to know where all the stuff that pops out of Stiles mouth comes from.

"Are you going to repeat everything I say?" Stiles asks, narrowing his eyes.

"I'm going to take a shower," Derek grabs one of his old and faded Led Zeppelin shirts and makes his way to the bathroom.

"You didn't answer my question!"

Derek stops at the bathroom door and turns around to face Stiles. "Which one?"

"The one about food," Stiles looks at him like he's being deliberately obtuse. "What else is there?"

"Yes, we can go eat later," Derek answers and closes the door behind him.

He gets out of his clothes and steps into the shower. Being stuck in a car for long periods of time makes him feel like he's trapped in his own skin, so the feel the hot water coming down on his sore muscles is probably the most amazing thing he's felt in a while.

Maybe with the exception of the hand currently stroking his dick.

Derek tries not to make a sound, resting his head against the cold tiles, because Stiles is just outside the door. He's probably sprawled on top of the bed with an arm behind his head, making his shirt ride up and showing a patch up pale skin. Derek thinks about the way Stiles would feel under him, how his breathing would change, if his skin would feel hot under his fingers, what kind of sounds he would make, if he would ask Derek to go _faster, harder, come on, fuck me_-

Derek comes with Stiles' name on his lips, muffled by the sound of the water and the faint music Derek can now hear coming from the room. Thank fuck for Stiles' obsession with music and being unable to stay still.

He goes back to his shower before the water gets cold, and when he gets out of the bathroom a while later is to find Stiles dancing around in the room to, "Is that Florence and the Machine?"

Stiles yelps, and somehow tangles his own feet together and falls down on the floor. Derek just stares at him, amused.

"Oh my god, _dude_," Stiles says, trying to get up. "Would you give a guy some warning next time?"

"My warning was turning the water off," Derek says flatly. "_Howl_?"

"_Be careful of the curse that falls on young lovers_- oh my god stop- stop looking at me like that, I won't sing anymore," Stiles sputters.

Derek continues staring, because he didn't mind Stiles singing as much as the boy thought he did. He actually has a nice voice.

"And yes, it's Florence Welsh," Stiles answers. "She's fierce. And a redhead."

"And she has music that _speaks to you_?"

Stiles gapes at him for a moment before getting himself together, "Yes, she does. _Landscape_ has a special place in my heart."

"I'm sure," Derek mumbles. "Now can we go eat something?"

"Yes, I'm starving," Stiles says as he opens the door. "And what took you so long in there?"

Derek can feel himself blushing, so he brushes past Stiles and to the car, "Nothing. Now let's go, before you faint out of hunger."

"I don't faint!" Stiles says, getting behind the wheel.

"Would you just drive?"

Derek can hear Stiles mumble under his breath something that sounds close to, "Ugh, _pushy_."

They find an open diner and Derek orders the greasiest thing on the menu, only to have Stiles wrinkling his nose in distaste at him before ordering a much healthier choice for himself.

"You know, it might kill you," Stiles says. "If you keep eating like that."

"Maybe that's the plan," Derek shoots back, which is stupid, because it's not what he wants.

What he wants is to scream. Maybe cry a little. Derek wants to feel like a person again. He wants Laura here, and he wants them back in Beacon Hills, sitting on the roof and looking at the stars like they used to.

Stiles is staring at him, and he shakes his head and says, "You're a real piece of work, you know that?"

Derek smiles at that, "You have no idea."


	9. Not Fair

**A/N:** i'm gonna spend most of sunday morning stuck on a plane, so i don't know if i'll be able to update this before the new years, but i'll make it up to you guys and update two days in a row if that happens ~  
happy holidays to everyone!

**warnings** for descriptions of a panic attack.

* * *

After waking up to Stiles blasting Florence and the Machine again - no doubt in an (successful) attempt to make Derek angry and hit him in the face with a pillow -, they each take a quick shower and go out to find something to eat. They end up in the same diner they were in last night and order breakfast, Stiles downing three cups of coffee before he even finishes eating his pancakes.

Adding the caffeine rush to the excitement of going to the Grand Canyon Skywalk, Stiles can't keep still. He is buzzing with excitement in his seat all the way there, and he only stops bobbing his legs up and down when Derek puts his hand over the boy's knee. Stiles just looks at him and grins.

At the moment they are both leaning over the ledge of the skywalk – as they have been doing over the past half hour or so-, as far as the security bar will let them, and staring down.

"This feels…," Derek trails off. He has a hand curled in the back of Stiles' plaid shirt, not trusting him to not somehow find a way to trip on something and fall off the skywalk, even if the security bar and protective glass are on his way.

"Like falling," Stiles completes, and Derek can hear the awe in his voice.

And that's exactly what it feels like, to be standing in suspended glass and staring down at nothing but empty space. Like you're floating on air, and the glass under your feet could disappear at any moment. It makes Derek's stomach flip, like he's been caught doing something that he shouldn't. Like he's too close to something he doesn't quite know what it is yet. He can't explain it. It just feels… like falling.

"We need pictures," Stiles says.

"You mean _you _need pictures," Derek corrects.

Stiles rolls his eyes. "Come on, don't be such a sourface."

"I don't like this," Derek says.

"You don't have to like it," Stiles says, coming up to him and throwing an arm over his shoulders. He stops a bystander and asks him to take their picture, handing over the camera.

"You have to smile," Stiles tells Derek.

"I don't have to do anything."

"Please," Stiles pouts.

Derek takes a long suffering sigh and turns to the camera, giving it his best smile. In the years after the fire, Laura would tell him he should smile more.

"Your smile is like a fucking ray of sunshine, Derek," she'd say. "You should use it more. Even if it's just to get what you want, or get out of stuff you don't want to do."

So Derek smiles his sunshine smile, and Stiles tightens his hold on him for the picture. Derek finds he likes having Stiles plastered on his side, how he's not hesitant to touch him, hug him, or playfully punch him in the shoulder. He missed this type of carefree affection. And not satisfied with having that one picture of the two of them together, Stiles makes Derek take some more pictures of him and the view from the skywalk so he can send them back to the Sheriff.

"Dad needs to make sure you didn't ditch me somewhere," Stiles tells him.

"I'm trying my best not to, but the idea is so tempting at times," Derek replies.

"Please don't make jokes," Stiles says. "You're not good at them. Or at being funny, like, at all. In fact, you should probably stick to scowling at people and looking intimidating and leave all the joking to me."

"So I should leave being annoying and clumsy to you too, right?"

Stiles narrows his eyes at Derek, but there's a small smile playing at his lips that tells Derek he's not mad. They walk around the skywalk some more, and as Derek takes in the view before him, he can't help but feel a little helpless, like he doesn't belong. After the fire, this feeling of having been torn to pieces and sewn back together wrong was a somewhat constant in his life.

After what Derek considers an exaggerated amount of pictures Stiles starts complaining about wanting to get something to eat, so they decide to bid the Grand Canyon goodbye and go on their way.

It's hard not to think about everything in the context of what it would be like if Laura was here, to not want to curl up in a ball and remain in the fetal position until they reach New York. Or destroy something just to know that he isn't the only one that's broken, but Derek is trying.

Derek says this to Stiles – the part about what it would be like if Laura was here, because he doesn't think Stiles would appreciate the rest of it -, when they find yet another diner to have lunch in.

"Think of it this way," Stiles says through a mouthful of fries. "You're experiencing everything she'll never get to?"

"You don't sound so sure," Derek raises an eyebrow at him.

"Shut up," Stiles says, stuffing more food in his mouth. "It's, like… a tribute or something."

It's comforting, he guesses, to think of it that way. He grabs the camera Stiles left on top of the table and takes a picture of him as he is taking a sip of his drink. Stiles startles at the flash and looks up, managing to spill some of his drink on the table. Derek just offers him a napkin and takes another picture of him cleaning up the mess.

"Not that I don't mind," Stiles says when the table is dry again. "But what's with all the pictures?"

"You told me your dad needs to know I didn't leave you on a ditch somewhere," Derek shrugs. "I thought it would be nice if he saw you weren't starving to death too."

Stiles huffs at that, and then calls the waitress over to order dessert.

"Can we have some chocolate ice cream, please?" he beams at her. "Oh! And some more fries?"

The waitress tells them she'd be back shortly with their order, and when Stiles turns back to him Derek asks, "Fries? You sure you need some more?"

"They're not for me, dumbass. They're for you."

"For me?"

"Yeah," Stiles nods. "You told me you liked to eat fries with your ice cream, right? So I asked fries with our ice cream."

"You remembered that."

"I remember lots of things," Stiles says, and there's that underlying sadness on his tone again.

After wasting the day walking around in the city, Stiles seems anxious to hit the road and put some serious mileage behind them, so they head down to Albuquerque. He drives all through the night, and when he thinks Derek is asleep, he slips in some Bon Jovi.

Derek drifts in and out of sleep until some point in the night when he opens his eyes to Stiles singing _You Give Love A Bad Name_ under his breath, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel. Derek watches him for a while, amused, and then looks out the window.

When Stiles notices he's awake, he stops singing and turns down the radio. "I need to gas up," he says.

"Okay," Derek's voice comes out all thick and rough from sleep. "Are we there yet?"

Stiles swings into a gas station, climbs out and fills up the Jeep's tank. A minute later he yanks the pump out and heads inside to pay. Derek unbuckles his seatbelt and reaches for the urn placed between the front seats, still wrapped up in the middle of the blankets Stiles brought. Derek pulls it out and into his lap, brushing his fingers across the cold marble. All of this time he's been avoiding the urn, afraid of – he doesn't know. Afraid, he guesses, that looking at it will make this real. And that's what all of this has been about – being afraid of the fact that Laura is gone. She'd gone and that's permanent. Derek can't pretend otherwise when he's looking at her remains.

The driver's door pops open and Stiles gets back into the Jeep, throwing a bag of Reese's cups at Derek.

"Me too," Stiles says, pulling out of the gas station.

"What?" Derek turns to look at him.

"I miss her too."

Derek quickly places the urn back on the seat, wrapping it up tightly with the blankets. He then picks up the Reese's cups and opens one, before opening another and offering it to Stiles.

"Hand. Palm up." Derek tells him.

Stiles takes one of his hands off the steering wheel and extends it like Derek said, and Derek places the cups on the boy's hand.

"Thanks, man," Stiles says, popping the chocolate is his mouth.

The sky gradually lightens as they drive on, deep midnight blue giving way to flaring orange and dusky pink. Outside the landscape is flat, and everything looks dead. It'd be easy to be lulled back to sleep by the monotony, but Derek's too keyed up at the moment for that.

He never told Laura he loved her. Not in the years after the fire, not as far as he can remember. Sure, whenever she'd tell him that he'd usually answer "Me too" but he doesn't think he ever said the actual words. Derek knows Laura loved him, but he's far less certain that she knew he loved her back. The bottom line is, maybe this is all Derek's fault. He didn't love her enough, wasn't there enough, didn't do enough. _He_ wasn't enough.

Derek presses the heel of his hands into his eyes while Stiles replaces Bon Jovi with something else. Derek takes his hands off his eyes and stares at the volume knob for a moment, before turning on his side to face Stiles.

"What's this?"

"It's Blue Mink," Stiles explains.

"Why are we listening to it?"

"Don't you like it?" Stiles asks, tilting his head a little bit to the side.

"It's…," Derek doesn't really know what to make of it, so he settles for, "happy."

"I thought it would be fitting, considering where we are going and all," Stiles shrugs.

"Fitting? Where we are going?"

"Yeah, you know. Albuquerque," Stiles says, and at Derek's blank look he adds, "Breaking Bad."

"Isn't that a tv show?" Derek is still very much confused about where this is all going and how everything is related. And he's kind of amused by the way Stiles seems to get more and more aggravated as more time passes when Derek doesn't know what he's talking about.

"Yes, Derek, it's a tv show," Stiles says, sounding annoyed. "It's an _awesome_ tv show. A tv show in which this song played. That's why it's fitting, and that's why we're listening to it."

Derek hums in acknowledgment, fighting off the urge to chuckle at the boy next to him. The next song that comes up and Derek is suddenly assaulted with memories of his childhood. _Here Comes The Sun _is playing through the Jeep, and Derek's mind is focused on those warm mornings his mother would make breakfast, Laura would wake up to find them dancing around in the kitchen, and she would tackle Derek to the ground and tickle him until he was crying from laughter. The only reason he didn't stay mad at her was because she'd always let him have extra pancakes. All of a sudden anger bubbles up in his chest and he can barely breathe.

He wants that back, he wants it all back. He wants Sunday mornings with the family, his mother's cooking, Laura being a brat, his cousins running around the house, and his dad and Uncle Peter reading the newspaper or talking about baseball. He wants getting high in the woods with Laura, and going on road trips in the Camaro, and watching reruns of The X-Files.

It's not fair. It's not fair that he doesn't have Laura here with him anymore. It's not fair that she did this to him, that she left him to deal with this mess on his own. Because that's how he feels: completely and utterly alone.

Hot tears prick behind his eyelids. The feel of them surprise him – because he doesn't cry, he hasn't cried since the fire – as much as it does Stiles.

He glances over at Derek, confused. "Hey. What's-"

"Shut up," Derek says.

He turns to face the window and watch the ground slip by, trying to keep himself under control. He can't get Laura out of his head. A minute later the headlights wash over a sign indicating an upcoming rest stop. Derek tries to blink the wetness out of his eyes, and to control his breathing so it doesn't come out in the short gasps as it is now, but it doesn't work.

"We need to stop," Derek says, his voice wavering.

Without a word, Stiles pulls off at the next exit.

Derek can hear the blood ringing in his ears, feel his heart beating a mile a minute, his lungs don't seem to be working at the moment and his fingers feel numb. He feels like he's drowning. He also feels a hand at the back of his neck forcing his head forward, so it's in between his knees, and he has a vague notion that someone is talking to him. He can't make out words, but he can focus on the hand rubbing small circles on his back. It takes a while for him to make out that Stiles is the one talking to him.

"Derek, you're having a panic attack," Stiles says, calm. "I know it feels awful but I need you to know that it's okay, that you're going to be okay. I'm right here."

Derek tries to hold onto the sound of Stiles voice, but he still can't get his breathing to go back to normal.

"We're going to try something, okay?" Stiles tells him. "I want you to try and hold your breath for two seconds, and then let it all out for another two, okay?"

Derek does as Stiles says while the boy counts down the seconds, and he's a little surprised when it starts to work. He doesn't feel much like he's dying anymore, and soon all that's left is the exhaustion from what just happened. He slumps back in his seat and turns to look at Stiles. He wants to ask how he knew exactly what to do to make it all stop. Something must show in his face, because next thing he knows Stiles is talking to him again.

"I used to have them," Stiles says. "Panic attacks. After my mom died."

"I'm sorry," Derek says, because he is. He can't imagine what it must have been like for an eight year old to feel this way.

"I'm sorry too."

Everything is starting to feel a little more normal now; his breathing coming easier, his voice a little steadier. He's exhausted, which maybe is a good thing, because he can't muster up the energy to feel embarrassed about breaking down in front of Stiles.

"Everything is so fucked up," Derek finds himself saying. "I'm doing this all wrong."

Stiles looks pissed at him at that. "You need to give yourself a break," he says. "There's no right way to do this. No, scratch that, there's _no way to do this_. You see, death doesn't happen to you, it happens to everyone around you. We know that. It happens to all the people left standing at your funeral, trying to figure out how they're gonna live the rest of their lives without you in it. But that's the thing, there's no magical way to stop us from hurting or missing the people that are not here anymore. That stays with us, forever. That marks us, leaves us broken, and changes who we are, and there's no way to stop that from happening. The only thing we can do is try and give them life again, through our memories, or doing things they used to do, or going on a fucking road trip to New York because that's what they would have wanted. So no, Derek, you're not doing this all wrong, because there's no way to do this _at all._"

And with that, Derek kisses him.


	10. Camping

**A/N: **i'm back!

and here is the chapter meant for yesterday :)

warnings for supernatural references and stand by me spoilers.

* * *

As far as kisses go, it's not a particular good one. It's just a hard press of lips against lips, and it's over just as quickly as it began. Derek pulls back as soon as his mind processes what he's doing, and that the other part isn't responding, only to find a stunned Stiles staring back at him. His eyes are impossibly wide, and Derek thinks that kissing the boy just after he had a panic attack was probably not the best idea he ever had. He is about to regret this whole thing ever happened and apologize when he feels Stiles' hand on his cheek.

"Well," the boy says, leaning in close to Derek. "This is an unforeseen turn of events."

Derek huffs a laugh, "I don't think that's how it goes."

"Yeah," Stiles grazes his lips against Derek's. "I don't really care right now."

And then they're kissing again. Stiles' lips pressing softly against Derek's and then parting against Derek's tongue, his hands coming up so Stiles can get a good grip on Derek's hair, making him groan. He retaliates by biting down on Stiles' lower lip and running his tongue over it before breaking the kiss and resting their foreheads together.

They don't move for a while, expect for Stiles' running his fingers through Derek's hair.

"We should probably stop for the night," Derek suggests, pulling back from Stiles.

Stiles' hands drop from where they are to come rest against his shoulders, "Do you want to get a room somewhere or sleep in the Jeep? I have some spare blankets in the back."

"Do we have enough room in the Jeep?" Derek raises an eyebrow at Stiles.

"Nope," Stiles grins back. "Absolutely not."

They arrange themselves in the back seat, Derek using a backpack as a pillow with Stiles half on top of him, their legs crammed against one of the doors in a weird angle, and Derek is sure they'll wake up sore and in pain and feeling like shit, but he couldn't care less. He can feel Stiles' breath against his neck, and he moves so that one if his arms is holding on to Stiles' shoulder, keeping him in place and making sure he doesn't fall off the seat, and the other resting against the boy's hip. Even if it doesn't feel like the most comfortable position in the world, being like this with Stiles gives Derek some sense of _right_. Like this is exactly what he should have been doing since he agreed to let Stiles come with him on this trip.

He feels Stiles move so that the boy's mouth is right against his pulse point, brushing the skin there, and one of his hands slide up and under Derek's shirt, resting on his ribcage. Derek just holds him tighter in response.

It's like Derek is in the cusp of something desperate and dangerous, but he doesn't know what it is. And then it doesn't matter because he's asleep.

Derek was right about waking up sore and in pain, he just didn't think the pain part would come from Stiles elbowing him in the stomach while trying to get up. After reassuring Stiles that he is okay, that there is no need to apologize because he is fine, they both got out of the Jeep to stretch their legs. Stiles yawns and stretches his arms above his head, which makes his back pop loudly, while Derek rolls his shoulders and neck.

Derek goes through one of his bags and grabs two granola bars, handing one to Stiles as the boy offers him a bottle of water. They both eat and drink in silence, and then brush their teeth by the side of the road. When Derek is about to head back into the car, something pulls him back. Stiles managed to get one of his fingers on one of his belt loops, so he finds himself pressed chest to chest against the boy.

It's good they don't have much of a height difference so that when they're this close Derek can take in the counters of Stiles' face, the way his eyes change from brown to molten gold in the sunlight, how his nose is slightly tipped up, and how for some reason his mouth always seems to be opened, lips red and shining from constantly biting down on them and wetting them with his tongue.

If it hadn't been for the fact that Derek has been staring at Stiles' lips for a while, he probably would have missed that the boy was talking to him.

"I'm going to guess that by the look on your face right now you don't think last night was a mistake," Stiles says.

Derek's gaze moves from Stiles' lips to his eyes, and he almost smiles at the wicked glint in them. The only reason he doesn't is because Stiles' question caught him a little off guard. It's not that he thinks last night was a mistake, it's the opposite that, and that's what makes it, this, scary. Derek has never been good with emotions, or words, or at liking people. And as much as he'd like to learn all those things with Stiles by his side, he can't help but feel like this might not be the right time. The only reason why he's with Stiles right now - why he's getting to know him, why he's spending time with him, and specially why he's making out with him early morning in the middle of nowhere -, is because his sister killed herself. As right as being with Stiles feels, it still feels more fucked up for it to be happening now.

Stiles must read something in his face, because he drops his hands from where they were gripping at Derek hips, and he takes a step back.

"Or maybe not," Stiles says, rubbing the back of his neck and staring at his shoes.

"Stiles."

"No, dude, it's fine. Don't worry. Really. It's totally okay. I mean, I know you probably weren't feeling all that great because of the panic attack and kissing me might have been like a spurt of the moment kind of thing or something and if you want to forget about it we can do that. I can totally do that. Yep. Whatever you want. Just say the word."

Derek stares at Stiles for a beat or two, taking in the tense shoulders and clenched fists, and says, "I don't want to forget about it." But he still stops Stiles' with a hand on his chest as the boy takes a step closer, "But my sister just. I don't. I don't think. I don't know if I can handle more than just making sure I get her ashes to New York right now."

"Yeah, I get it," Stiles brings on of his hands to rest on top of the one Derek has across his chest. "But what if we just, I don't know, make it up as we go?"

"Stiles," Derek sighs.

"No, dude, listen to me. I'm not asking you to marry me or anything. I just," Stiles takes a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. "In the time we've been spending together stuck in my Jeep we kind of got to know each other, right? And I got to see that under all that frowny face and perfect cheekbones and broodiness you're actually a really nice guy. Sure, your jokes suck most of the time, but you have an amazing taste in music and tv shows, so I can totally forgive you for that. And you don't mind listening to me talk all the time, and you sometimes laugh at things I say or just at me, but I'm totally down with that because I think you could use some laughter in your life right now. And, I don't know, I guess I just sort of really liked what I got to see, and I liked even more when we got to kissing, and I would definitely be okay if we continued down that path. No strings attached? Just because we, well, just because we want to and we like how it feels? Assuming that you do. Since, you know, you said you didn't want to forget about it."

Derek can feel how fast Stiles' heart is beating under his hand, and he gets that same feeling he had when they were standing in the skywalk. Like he's falling. So he places his other hand on the back of Stiles' neck and says, "Don't call me dude."

He feels more than sees the smile that breaks across Stiles face as they meet up in another kiss.

They pull apart after a while and get into the Jeep to drive their way to Albuquerque. Stiles drums his fingers on the steering wheel to Aerosmith's _Mama Kin_, and smirks when he hears Derek mumbling the lyrics under his breath.

They don't bother with finding a hotel right away, because even with Stiles' enthusiasm they know they won't be staying here for long. Stiles stops to use a payphone because his cell is dead, and checks in with his dad. Derek gets that similar twist in his gut at the thought that he doesn't have anyone to call anymore, that no one is waiting to hear from him that he's okay and safe. Stiles gets back to the car and they go in search of a place to eat.

After they finish lunch, they walk around town for a while, stopping to buy more bottled water and snacks. They're in the health and beauty aisle of the grocery store - Stiles trying to decide which sunblock will be more efficient in avoiding sunburns, while Derek grabs some pain relievers and mosquito repellent -, when Stiles says, "I need a shower."

"You had a shower yesterday."

"Yeah, but I'm sweaty," Stiles whines. "It's like Satan's asshole out there."

"Isn't that colorful," Derek says, but he has to agree. His shirt is clingy to his back with sweat even in the cool store, and he knows it'll be worse once they get outside again. Derek stares at the repellent in his hand, and gets an idea. "We could go camping."

"Camping," Stiles says flatly. "In this heat?"

"It will be cooler at night," Derek shrugs.

"So will the perfectly nice motel we could rent a room in," Stiles points a sunblock bottle at him. "Plus, what do you know about camping?"

"I used to do it with my family all the time," Derek tells him.

"Oh," is all Stiles says.

"We used to go deep into the woods for a whole weekend every couple of months," Derek is not sure why he's sharing this. Maybe is just to reassure Stiles that he, in fact, knows what he's doing when it comes to camping and making it easier for Stiles to agree to the idea.

Stiles stills look a bit skeptical at the idea, so Derek says, "Where's your sense of adventure?"

Stiles' eyes narrow at the challenge, and Derek knows there won't be any more arguments about whether they'll go camping or not. He doesn't doubt Stiles will make this as annoying as humanly possible, but at least Derek will get to sleep outside, staring at the stars.

Derek isn't wrong, as soon as they got a tent and directions for a campground, Stiles starts complaining.

"What if I get eaten by bears? Or get all by blood sucked by bugs? Or what if I get up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom and get lost and fall on a lake and drown? And what if there are leeches on the lake and one of them gets stuck on my dick?"

Derek stops him at this point, "There are no bears. If there's anything you need to worry about here are scorpions, spiders and snakes. You're not going to fall on a lake and drown. And this isn't Stand By Me. There won't be any leeches on your dick. And even if there were, I don't think you'd mind, because apparently you would have drowned first."

"Scorpions, spiders and snakes?" Stiles asks, arms flailing. "Dude, that's so much worse than bears. At least with bears I know I'll just get eaten, and not poisoned and left to die a slow and painful death."

"Stop talking," Derek pinches the bridge of his nose.

"You know, you could at least say you'll protect me," Stiles says, smiling goofily at Derek. "That you won't let anything happen to me while out in the wilderness."

"If I do that, you'll stop whining?"

"Yes," Stiles nods.

Derek moves closer to Stiles and cups the boy's face between his hands, leaning in to whisper against his lips, "Stiles, I'll protect you. And I won't let anything happen to you while we're out in the wilderness."

Derek seals the words by pressing a soft kiss on Stiles' lips, and then pulling back completely from him. Stiles has a dazed look on his face, and he blinks a couple of times before zeroing his gaze on Derek again.

"Okay," Stiles says. "Let's go camping."

They're sitting on the hood of the Jeep - their tent and sleeping bags a few feet away – and staring up at the night sky. Stiles is tapping his fingers against his knees to a beat that only he can hear, and Derek feels that familiar peace of times long past swiping deep into his bones. They don't say anything until Stiles starts humming under his breath, so Derek asks, "What song is that?"

Derek can tell that by the way Stiles jumps and almost slides off the hood, he was caught off guard. Like he didn't even notice he was humming anything in the first place.

"It's, uhm…," Stiles says after he settles himself in a better angle on top of the Jeep. "You'll think it's stupid."

"Stiles," Derek sighs. "Just answer the question."

Stiles turns his body so that's he's lying with his head on Derek's shoulder and an arm thrown across his stomach, "It's _Starman."_

"_Starman_?" Derek asks, bringing his arm to hold Stiles flush against him. "David Bowie's _Starman_?"

Stiles moves so that he's propped on one elbow, staring down at Derek with his lips curved in a small pleased smile, and Derek really shouldn't be that surprised when Stiles starts singing the lyrics to the song. He has a nice voice, and his fingers go back to tapping a rhythm against Derek's stomach as Derek smirks back at him. It's when Stiles hits the chorus that Derek joins in, earning a surprised laugh from the other boy. They sing while smiling, getting louder and louder until they come to the end of the song, Stiles with his face smashed against Derek's chest and shoulder shaking with laughter, Derek chuckling and rubbing his hand up and down Stiles' buzzcut. They stay that way for a while, but it's not long before Stiles starts getting restless again.

"It's so quiet here," Stiles whispers.

"Why do I feel like this is going to end with us playing a game again?"

"Dude, that's an _amazing_ idea," Stiles says, tone laced with mock surprised. "We should play Truth or Dare."

"Because we're fourteen year old girls," Derek says flatly.

"And we're cute," Stiles answers. "Okay, Truth or Dare?"

"I never agreed to this."

"You also didn't say no," Stiles points out. "Truth or Dare?"

"Truth," Derek says, and he has a feeling he's going to wish he hadn't.

"What are you thinking, right now?"

"I'm thinking that…" Derek breathes in, just for a moment. "Laura would have loved this. Going on this road trip, I mean."

"Really?"

"Yeah," Derek nods. "She used to say that the best thing a parent can do is take kids on road trips. I would say she wasn't a parent, and she would answer me in her I-know-better-than-you-tone that she wasn't, but she had been a kid once."

"That sounds like her," Stiles says, a small smile playing in his lips. "My turn. Truth."

"Did you have any idea," Derek starts. "With Laura, that she would-or why she would-" His voice cracks, and he doesn't say anything else.

"No," Stiles says quietly. "I think. Some people are just sad, all of the time. And they're good at pretending otherwise. I don't know. There doesn't always have to be a reason, I guess." His face softens. "I wish I knew."

"Yeah," Derek says, because he understand wishing for things he can't have. "And I wish she had left a note."


	11. Bad Things

**A/N: **warnings for stiles maybe sort of getting a panic attack

* * *

"Do I need to call Melissa and tell her to stop by and make sure you're not eating your weight in bacon while I'm gone? Because I will, and you know how she is when she gets mad. Horrible pers-? I am awesome, okay? You should thank the gods for being blessed with a son like me. Don't think I don't know you're changing the subject! But yes, I'm okay. Yeah, I know I'm not the biggest nature fan, but this is kind of cool. Okay, the clear sky full of starts was cool, the sleeping on the floor not so much."

The sound of Stiles' voice stirs Derek out of sleep. He sits up on his elbow and sees Stiles pacing outside, wearing only a pair of jeans and his worn out red converse shoes. Stiles looks over when Derek climbs out of the tent, smiling warmly at him.

"Derek's okay too. Yes, we're looking out for each other. I- Oh my- No- Dad, stop- I refuse to have this conversation with you. I'm hanging up now! Love you, bye!"

By the time Stiles hangs up the phone Derek is already behind him, nuzzling his neck and trying to contain an amused chuckle at the blush racing down Stiles cheeks to his neck and chest.

"Why are you blushing?" Derek asks, smirking at the way the question only makes Stiles' skin redder.

"I'm not blushing!" Stiles tries to disentangle from Derek's grip, only to be held tighter.

"Sure you're not," Derek says. "Your dad wanted to give you The Talk, didn't he?"

Stiles tenses in Derek's arms. "Oh, no. He already tried that when I was sixteen. It went horribly for both of us."

"What did he say, then?" Derek asks, confused as to Stiles' reaction.

"He just wanted to know if we were being safe? Which is stupid, since, you know, we haven't done anything? Yet?"

Derek doesn't know if he should be saying this, but considering the way everything Stiles just said ended with a question mark he offers it anyway. "And we don't have to do anything. If you don't want to. It's up to you."

"I-," Stiles gives one of Derek's hands that are spread over his chest a soft tap. Derek relaxes his hold and Stiles turns to look at him. "I know. I just don't really want to rush into anything, I guess."

Derek has a feeling there's something Stiles is not telling him, but he'll let it go for now. "Then we won't rush into anything."

"Okay. Okay, that's. That's good," Stiles smiles at him, then scrunches up his nose and says. "And now you're going to go take a shower because you're all sweaty and brush your teeth because you have morning breath and then we're hitting the road."

Derek rolls his eyes and presses a kiss to the corner of Stiles' mouth before letting him go and grabbing his things. He still has no idea what this thing between them is, and if he's being honest with himself he doesn't want to think too hard about it. If Derek lets himself overthinking this, he'll end up finding a million and one reasons not to go through with it, and he really needs the calm Stiles brings with whatever it is they're doing together. Because as much as he thinks about Laura and his family while they're together, it's still not as much as he used to.

They're playing another round of Top Three, the Jeep rattling over every little bump in the road and the volume on low playing some Whitesnake song, the questions getting even more ridiculous as the times passes on, and Derek feels at ease. They're driving by long stretches of desert and spare bushes, and Derek doesn't mind leaning with his back against the door, head resting on the window and letting the vibrations chatter his teeth so he can stare at Stiles.

Derek is kind of glad for all the heat, because it means Stiles leaves his plaid shirts behind, wearing only the band t-shirts instead. The one he's wearing today is soon becoming Derek's favorite, because it looks old and two sizes too small. Derek can barely make out the Def Leppard logo and the shirt stretches out across Stiles' shoulders, chest, and arms, and rides up a little bit depending on the way Stiles shifts his body.

Derek is kind of glad for all the heat, because it means Stiles leaves his plaid shirts behind, wearing only the band t-shirts instead. The one he's wearing today is soon becoming Derek's favorite, because it looks old and two sizes too small. Derek can barely make out the Def Leppard logo and the shirt stretches out across Stiles' shoulders, chest, and arms, and rides up a little bit depending on the way Stiles shifts his body.

"How long have you had this?" Derek asks, sliding a finger under the sleeve and stretching the fabric some more. No one can blame Derek for being curious. As good as it looks on him Stiles probably should have gotten rid of that shirt a long time ago.

Stiles grabs his hand and pulls it away, "A while."

"I can tell. I want to know how long."

"Because it's all faded and stupidly tight and it makes me look hot?" Stiles supplies and Derek can see the smirk on the boy's face.

He thinks about not answering for a second, but he knows that if he doesn't Stiles will take that as some sort of personal victory for making him embarrassed. "Because it's all faded and stupidly tight and it makes me want to do bad things with you while you're wearing it."

Stiles turns the volume all the way down, cutting off the music, and it's not really a surprise to anyone when he decides to ruin the mood by ignoring everything Derek just said and singing Jace Everett's _Bad Things_. Derek hides his face in his hands, shoulders shaking with silent laughter, because he cannot deal with how Stiles' mind works.

Suddenly there's a loud pop, and Stiles screams. Derek braces himself with one hand on the dashboard and another one holding tightly to the back of his seat as Stiles slams on the breaks and pulls out of the side of the road. For a few seconds they sit there, breathing heavily, until Derek says, "Are you okay?"

"I- What- I- Yeah," Stiles says, shakily. "Did we get a flat?"

"I think so," Derek loosens his grip on the seat and shifts a little, so he's leaning closer to Stiles, but before he can say anything Stiles undoes his belt with trembling hands and climbs out of the Jeep. He's unsteady on his feet, so it's not long before he gives up on walking just to sit on the ground and breathe. Derek walks up to him, kneeling on the ground by his side. He doesn't know if Stiles is having a panic attack or not, but he tries to remember what Stiles did for him in the car that day. He starts rubbing small circles against Stiles' back, and he knows he should be saying something but he doesn't know what. He settles for the second best thing and picks up from where Stiles left of, singing the lyrics to _Bad Things_. Stiles looks up at Derek after a few seconds, breathing almost normal again, and blinks. Once, twice, three times. And then he starts laughing.

"Holy shit! I cannot believe. Did we just. I can't," Derek stares at him, stunned, because Stiles just keeps on laughing and laughing and not making any sense. "I thought we were going to die! I thought we were going to die but now we're sitting here by the side of the road with a flat and you're _singing to me_!"

Derek continues to stare until Stiles' laughter dies down, leaving the boy wiping the tears in his eyes. "Are you done now?"

"Yeah, yeah," Stiles waves a hand at him. "Just. Sorry. That was funny. Not the getting a flat and thinking I was gonna to die part, but the you singing part."

"You're never going to let me live it down, are you?"

"You _sang to me_. To _calm me down_. I'll hold this over your head _forever_."

Derek rolls his eyes but knows it's no use to try and make Stiles forget about this. He gets up and pulls Stiles up with him. "Come on, we have a tire to change."

"Oh," Stiles says, rubbing the back on his neck.

"I know how to do it. Don't worry about it."

"It's not that. It's, uhm… I just remember that Isaac borrowed the jack a couple of weeks back? And he kind of hasn't returned it yet?" Stiles says, biting down on his lower lip.

Derek looks at Stiles, to the flat tire, up to the sky, and back at Stiles again before pointing a finger at him. "You're an idiot."

"I resent that!" Stiles frowns.

"What kind of person goes on a fucking road trip without a jack in the fucking car?"

"I forgot, okay? And why are you yelling at me? You should be yelling at Isaac!"

"You're going to shut up before I strangle you," Derek says. "And I'm yelling at you because we're stuck in the middle of the desert with a flat tire and no jack because you were stupid enough not to check if you had one before coming on this trip."

"Don't be an asshole," Stiles snaps.

"Don't be an irresponsible child," Derek snaps back.

They're interrupted by the sound of a car approaching, but Derek doesn't miss the way Stiles flinches like he's been hit. A man that appears to be a couple of years older than Derek sticks out his head. "Got some car trouble?"

"Uhm…" Stiles says, glancing warily at the man.

"Yeah," Derek says. "Flat tire. We've got a spare but we're missing the jack."

"Oh, we can fix that," the man nods, and Stiles and Derek share a look.

The back and passenger doors of the car fly open, and out tumble three more people: two boys and a woman. Derek can tell the boys are about Stiles' age, while the woman must be about his age. The boys are identical twins, dressed in tight jeans and combat boots, one with a black t-shirt and the other a gray one. The woman is barefoot – Derek does a double take at that, because really? No shoes? - and wearing tight cut off jean shorts and an even tighter black tank top. Derek would find her beautiful if she didn't look like she could cut off his balls when he wasn't looking.

"Am I hallucinating?" Stiles mutters to Derek under his breath. The boy had been inching himself closer and closer to Derek while his attention was focused on the group, so now he has a hand curled around Derek's wrist.

Derek tilts his head to the side as the driver also steps out of the car and pops his trunk. He comes back with a car jack and a wrench in hand, and walks over to Derek.

"I can get that," Derek says, and takes the tool from the guy's hands.

"Yeah," Stiles says. "He knows what he's doing."

The older man just nods, and watches as Derek replaces the flat tire with a new one.

"You know your way with cars," the man says appreciatively.

Derek notices the way Stiles tenses as he wipes off his hands on his jeans. "You could say that," he answer vaguely, not wanting to reveal too much information about himself.

"I like your shirt," one of the twins with the gray says to Stiles, smirking.

"Uhm," Stiles looks down at his shirt and starts pulling awkwardly at the hem, as if somehow he'll be able to make the shirt a size bigger. "Thanks."

Derek doesn't like the way the twin is looking at Stiles, and he specially doesn't like what he says next. "We're playing a gig a few towns over. You should come."

"A gig?" Stiles asks, sounding mildly curious. Derek can already tell he won't like where this is going.

"We're a band," the boy says. "I'm Ethan and I play the bass, my brother Aiden plays the drums. Deucalion over there plays the guitar, and Kali is the lead singer."

"I don't think-" Derek starts, only to be interrupted by Stiles saying, "Yeah, we'd _love_ to go."

"Stiles-" Derek tries again, only to be interrupted one more time.

"What? It's not like we're on a tight schedule here. And going to see them perform is the least we can do after they let us use their jack because I forgot mine since _I'm such an irresponsible child_."

Derek presses his lips together in a thin line, and narrows his eyes at Stiles, "Okay then. Let's go."

"Just follow us," the older guy, Deucalion, tells them.

Stiles gets into the Jeep without even looking in Derek's direction.

Three hours later and Derek is drenched in sweat, beer and other things he doesn't even want to think about. Stiles is still ignoring him, but Derek refuses to let him out of his sight until this whole thing is over and they're back in the car and driving far away from here.

They're walking away from the stage - Ethan's band just finished playing -, when someone bumps hard into Stiles, making him stumble back into Derek.

"Watch it, kid," a guy says.

"Why don't you look where you're going, asshole?" Derek snaps back.

"No one's talking to you."

"Derek, let's go," Stiles says, and starts pulling Derek by the wrist.

"I think you need to keep your bitch in a leash so he won't walk into people."

"Maybe you need to go die in a fire," Derek spits.

Stiles just looks at him with big amber eyes, like he can't believe what just came out of Derek's mouth. Derek can't quite believe it either, and then the guy rushes forward, but Derek is faster and ducks, pushing Stiles out of the way before landing a punch to the side of the guy's face. After that a full fight breaks out, and someone grabs Derek from behind and unceremoniously dumps him in the back alley outside of the venue.

"And stay the fuck out," the security guard tells Derek, right before slamming the door in his face.

He gets up slowly, and he's trying to think of a way to came back inside for Stiles and he hears someone laugh. Derek turns back around to find Kali leaning against one of the brick walls, still without any shoes.

"That was cute," she says.

Derek opts for silence, brushing the back of his jeans.

"Where's your boy toy?" Kali asks, and Derek snaps his head up so fast his neck pops.

"He's not-"

"Derek!"

Footsteps pound on the pavement, and Derek turns to see Stiles running down the alley. He stops a few steps short of Derek and looks him up and down, as if checking for injuries.

"You okay?"

"Am I okay?" Stiles shouts. "Are you fucking kidding me? I'm not the one who punch some guy two times my size in the fucking face, Derek!"

"I'm okay," Derek shrugs, because he is. "The guy was too drunk to land a solid punch anyway."

"They why did you fucking hit him?!" Stiles is full on angry flailing now, and Derek is kind of amused. Kali also seems to be, because she laughs again. Stiles looks back at her as if only realizing she's been standing there the whole time.

"You know, the band is chilling in the apartment upstairs," Kali says, voice slick. "You two wanna come?"

"You know I'm not allowed to go back in there," Derek says, motioning for the bar.

"But I am," Kali tells him, as if no one would dare to say anything about who she brings inside. Derek thinks she might scalp them if they tried.

He looks back at Stiles, who's still staring at Kali with a strange look on his face, and says, "Okay."


	12. For Laura

**A/N**: have a new chapter because... well, just because.

warnings for twincest right at the beginning of this chapter and game of thrones references

* * *

The apartment looks like a modern opium den, with people lying around but instead of opium there's the strong scent of pot and booze in the air. Stiles is walking closer to Derek, Kali in front of them.

She tosses her hair to the side and talks to them over her shoulder. "You already know Deucalion, who's sitting in the wooden chair across the room. Next to them on the couch are Ethan and Aiden-"

"You mean them?" Stiles gawks. "They're Ethan and Aiden?"

Derek looks over to the direction Stiles is pointing, and he's not sure whether he should feel grossed out or incredibly turned on. The only reason Derek can distinguish who is who is because the twins are still wearing the same clothes as they were when they met earlier. Aiden is lying down on the couch, head thrown back and mouth opened with Ethan on top of him, while Ethan has a hand trapped between them and his mouth biting down on his brother's neck.

"Yes," Kali smirks at them. "They're Ethan and Aiden."

Stiles turns to Derek with impossible wide eyes and mouths, "Let's go."

Derek places his hand on the back of Stiles' neck and pulls him forward until Stiles is forced to brace a hand on Derek's chest if he doesn't want to fall on his ass. "I think we'll…" and Derek looks from the twins back to Kali, "leave now."

"But we just started having fun," Kali purrs. Deucalion gets up from his chair and starts walking towards them.

"Sorry," Derek says, not sounding sorry at all. He can feel Stiles' rapid heartbeat against his own now, and he brings his other arm to the small of Stiles' back and pulls him impossibly closer. "But I don't share."

"Wouldn't you reconsider?" Deucalion asks, eyeing Stiles in a way that has Derek's stomach churning.

Derek can feel Stiles is about to say something by the way his whole body tenses, so he gives the back of Stiles' neck a squeeze. "No."

Deucalion and Kali eye them for a moment before both of them turn back to the room and the couch the twins are on, clearly dismissing them.

Derek let's go of Stiles' neck and waist only in favor of grabbing his hand and dragging him out of the door. They walk fast and don't say anything until they get to the Jeep and pull out of the parking lot, which is when Stiles whispers, "What the fuck just happened?"

Derek is staring straight ahead, because how is this his life?

"I don't know."

"I have so many disturbing questions right now I don't even know where to start," Stiles shakes his head a little. "No, that's a lie. I know exactly where to start. Do you think they drive around roads all the time picking up unsuspected good-looking people and inviting them to their gigs and then up to their mysterious hang-out place and subject them to watching hot twins having incestual gay sex on a couch so those unsuspected good-looking people will be somehow persuaded into thinking it's a good idea to have sex with all of them?"

"I think most of the time they might just pick up people from their own audience," Derek offers, turning to look back at Stiles.

Stiles makes a noise at the back of his throat that sounds either like a laugh or a contained scream. "Aren't we _lucky_?" he says, tone dripping with sarcasm. "And how about we never talk about this ever again for as long as we exist and even after that?"

"What? You don't want people to know how a whole band wanted your hot piece of ass to go round for them to play with?" Derek deadpans.

Stiles' whole body shudders. "Oh my God, why would you say that? Why would you do that to me? Do you have any idea how violated I feel right now? And all the mental images and nightmares this will bring. Just. No."

"Hey," Derek says, leaning forward over the console and placing a hand against Stiles' stomach while he nuzzles at the boy's neck. "I told you I wouldn't let anything bad happen to you."

Stiles snorts through his nose, but moves his head a little to the side so Derek can have better access to his neck. "Don't think that just because you saved me from the world's scarier sex fantasy that I'm not mad at you anymore. Because I am."

Derek sighs against Stiles neck, "I'm sorry about what I said earlier. I should have thought to check everything before we headed out instead of just assuming you'd have everything covered. It was stupid of me to be mad at you when I hadn't even thought about it."

Stiles takes one of his hands from the steering wheel to pet Derek lightly on the head. "Apologize accepted. Now go back to your seat unless you want me to crash."

Derek places one last kiss to Stiles' neck before doing as the boy said.

They decide to stop in Amarillo, Texas, to shower, sleep, eat their weight in barbecue meat, and go see the Cadillac Ranch. They get a motel room and Derek lets Stiles take a shower first, since he's been doing all the driving. They don't really talk as much as they just get cleaned up and drop dead on the bed, only to wake up the next morning by Stiles' phone ringing.

"Stiles," Derek grunts to the back of Stiles' neck. Somehow they ended up with Stiles' back to Derek's chest, Stiles clutching Derek's arm close to his chest while Derek has his face smashed against the boy's neck.

"'ve more minutes."

"Your phone is ringing," Derek says.

"'Nnng."

"I could answer it," Derek offers. "But it could be your dad calling."

That gets Stiles' propping up on his elbow and grabbing his phone from the nightstand, all with his eyes still closed. "What? Oh, hey dad. Sorry, just, I've been driving half the night. Yeah, we're still alive. Okay, love you too. Bye."

Stiles places his phone back in the nightstand and flops back on the bed.

"We're still alive?"

"Barely," Stiles mutters. "Dad wants me to check in just to make sure he doesn't need to send the cops after us."

Derek hums in response, tightening his hold on Stiles before letting him go and getting up from the bed.

"Where are you going?" Stiles asks.

"Bathroom," Derek answers. "Then we're going to eat a ridiculous amount of meat and then I'm gonna take you down to the Cadillac Ranch."

"Did you just sort of quote Bruce Springsteen lyrics to me?"

"Yes, I did," Derek says, closing the bathroom door behind him.

He goes back to the room to find that Stiles has gone back to sleep. Derek stares at him for a while, the slow rise and fall of his chest, until Stiles mumbles, "Stop staring at me, you creeper."

Derek looks taken aback for a moment, before arching an eyebrow and saying, "No."

Stiles huffs a laugh and opens his eyes, "I thought I heard something about ridiculous amount of meat…?"

"Only if you get up."

"Oh, the things I do for lo-" Stiles faces scrunches up. "Okay, I'm never ever quoting incestuous twins again. Even if they're only fictional."

"I like Jaime Lannister," Derek shrugs.

Stiles blinks up at him. "At least you didn't say you like Cersei. But we all know Tyrion is the best of them."

"Yes, we do. Now get up and get dressed so we can go."

"Bossy, bossy," Stiles complains as he gets up and makes his way to the bathroom.

Derek doesn't think he has ever eaten so much before in his entire life. They're back in their room, sprawled on the bed and he's slipping in a food coma. Seeing the way Stiles has a hand on his stomach and a look of pure delight on his face, the boy must feel the same. The barbecue was a good change from the diner meals and granola bars they'd been eating since starting this, which was probably the main reason why they ate so much.

"My dad would kill me if he knew how much red meat I ate right now," Stiles says.

"I think he'd probably just throw you in a pool and let you die of indigestion," Derek replies.

Stiles nods in agreement. "He totally would. The more I suffered the better."

They lie there for a few more seconds in silence, until Derek asks, "Do you want to take a nap or do you want to go buy spray cans?"

Stiles pretends to think about it for a minute, but judging for the way his lids are almost closed it's not surprising when he says, "Nap. Always a nap. Naps are our friends and I love them."

Derek chuckles and sets the alarm on his phone before he slides down on the bed, so that his head is resting on the pillow. He pulls Stiles down too, so the boy has his head resting against his chest and a leg thrown over his. He likes this, how easily they fit together, how comfortable he feels with Stiles pressed close to him. Derek also likes the way Stiles smells, like soap and sweat and the faint trace of lemons. So he breathes in deep and goes to sleep.

Derek wakes up about three hours later to the steady pressure of something wrapped around is cock. His eyes snap open to the sight of Stiles straddling his legs, his cheeks flushed and mouth opened, his hand jacking Derek slowly. He looks up at Derek's sharp intake of breath and gives him a cheeky smile.

"You were humping my leg in your sleep," Stiles says, teeth catching down on his lower lip. "I thought I'd give you a hand."

He demonstrates it with a flick of his wrist, and Derek knows he's not going to last long. Not when it's been a while since the last time he had sex, not when he's being fantasizing about having Stiles like this, and certainly not when Stiles is looking at him with wonder, like the boy can't quite believe this is happening, that he's the one making Derek groan and gasp and thrust his hips into his hand.

Derek grabs a handful of Stiles' shirt and pulls him to him, crashing their mouths together. Stiles makes a little noise of surprise, before sucking Derek's tongue is his mouth and biting down of Derek's lower lip. It only takes a couple more tugs and the slick friction of the patch of skin of Stiles' stomach where his shirt's ridden up and Derek is coming on Stiles' hand, their stomachs, and some part of Stiles' shirt.

His vision clears and Stiles is lying down beside him on the bed, mouthing lazily at Derek's neck, and Derek can see that Stiles has a hand down his own boxers, touching himself. He immediately pushes Stiles so that the boy is lying with his back on the bed. He drags Stiles' boxer down and bats the boy's hand away from his dick.

"I'll take care of that," Derek says when Stiles whines in protest.

"What are you-Oh my-_Fuck_," Stiles' eyes widen and he gasps as Derek runs his tongue from the base up to the head of his cock.

Derek has one hand pressed down on Stiles' stomach, holding him in place, and Derek can feel the muscles twitching under his palm. His other hand is at Stiles' thigh, blunt nails scratching at the soft skin and hair there. He moves his hand to the base of Stiles' dick, down to cup his balls, and suddenly Stiles has both hands on Derek's hair and he _pulls_, making Derek moan around him, and that's all it takes for Stiles to come. Derek swallows everything down, pulling back with a pop, and climbs up on the bed to kiss Stiles lazily.

"Best nap ever," Stiles whispers against his lips.

Derek stares at the row of Cadillac cars half-buried nose first in the ground, and then back at Stiles' face.

"Laura would have loved this," Derek says. She would have loved the graffiti covering the cars, how the mismatched ink from all the names comes together to make art. She would have loved knowing thousands of people before her stood exactly where Derek and Stiles are standing to do the exact same thing they're about to do. And then she would have complained about how the spray paint smells awful and that is too hot and she wants to go home.

"She would have complained about the paint," Stiles says, and Derek chuckles because that's exactly what he was thinking.

They each bought a can of spray paint, both white, and they're walking past the cars to see which they want to write their names in. At some point Stiles makes them stop so they can take pictures of some of the older car models, and that's when Derek finds out about the Sheriff's fascination with classic cars. Stiles also insists they take pictures of the two of them together.

"Your dad already knows I didn't leave you to die in the middle of the desert."

"Well, yeah," Stiles says. "But when I tell everyone about this hot guy I spent my summer with, I'm gonna need proof."

Derek gets this uneasy feeling on his stomach, that maybe he doesn't want to be just the guy Stiles spent his summer with, but he pushes the feeling down before he starts thinking too much about it. He's not prepared to consider the idea that maybe he's in deeper than he thought, especially when he was the one that said he wasn't ready for anything now. So he rolls his eyes and hooks an arm around Stiles waist, pulling him close. Stiles angles the camera, and at the last second Derek grabs Stiles chin, turns his head, and kisses him on the lips.

Derek pulls back and says, "Now you have proof."

Stiles bursts out laughing, and then grabs Derek's hand and says, "Come on. Let's go find us a car."

They walk around for a while longer until they find a car that has a little less spray paint than the rest. They settle for an almost clean spot near the trunk and Stiles starts shaking his spray can before unclasping the lid and leaving his signature.

"'_What the hell is a Stiles?_'" Derek reads out loud. "Should I ask?"

"I think you just did," Stiles points out. "Everyone thinks it sounds weird. '_Stiles Stilinski_? _Who would name their kid that? Why?'_ Little do they know my real name sounds weirder."

"What's your real name?" Derek asks.

"That is for me to know and you to never ever figure out," Stiles winks at him, and then moves so that Derek can sign the car.

Derek goes for a spot directly above the one Stiles just signed and starts painting. It takes him a few minutes to get it all done, and he goes to stand by Stiles to admire his handiwork.

"We need a picture of this," Stiles says, softly.

Derek nods in agreement and goes to stand by the car. He waits for Stiles to get the camera ready and take the picture, and then he's walking back to where Stiles stands. They stare at each other for a few seconds until Stiles slips his hand into Derek's and intertwines their fingers together.

"Let's go?"

"Yeah," Derek says, and turns around to take one last look at the white letters on the car.

_For Laura_


	13. Guilt

Stiles lets Derek drive to Oklahoma. He bitches and threatens and fidgets most of the way, but he at least gives Derek something to do. They stop at a gas station somewhere to buy Gatorade and candy, and Derek blows Stiles in the bathroom. Having an orgasm is apparently all it takes to put Stiles to sleep, because almost as soon as they pull out into the road Derek can hear the faint snores coming from the passenger seat. He thinks it's good for Stiles not to spend another night driving, just nodding off and resting instead. The music is turned down low as not to wake him, but not low enough for Derek not to make the lyrics to Lynyrd Skynyrd's _Simple Man._

He glances at Stiles' sleeping form and thinks about Laura. It made sense that she took him under her wing – she always liked the odd ones. She wasn't easily impressed by people, so if you caught her attention it meant there was something about you that was special.

"I only surround myself with extraordinary people, Derek," Laura used to tell him, smiling sweetly. "And you."

She probably loved hearing Stiles babble about things, and how much personal information he shared about himself when it seemed like he wasn't saying anything important. She must have loved getting him riled up about music, listening how passionate he was about it and seeing him flailing when he went on and on about how most music today was crap. She must have loved his ability to retain all sorts of useless information that somehow ended up being useful in the most ridiculous situations, how he dropped pop culture references left and right, and his uniform of band t-shirts, plaid, and jeans.

He likes to think that's why Laura kept Stiles close; Derek just wishes he knew about it before this whole mess started, back when she was alive, so he could have had his older sister and Stiles with him, so could have had Stiles longer than just for a summer. And that's why Derek doesn't want to think about what it is that they're doing, because Stiles will be gone to New York for college while Derek will go back to Beacon Hills and the wreck that's his life.

But Derek can't deny that in the days since they left Beacon Hills that Stiles has talked his way under his skin, making him _care _and _feel _and wish for _better things_ instead of floating around in an ocean of hurt and pain and dead family members. This skinny pale hyperactive music snob of a guy snuck up on Derek and around all the constructed walls he had in place so he wouldn't be found in a position to care about other people again so that he wouldn't suffer when they left or died - because everyone leaves or dies eventually.

Derek isn't expecting this, and maybe that's why he found it anyway. He isn't busy trying to push Stiles away like he has every other person in his life, so no surprise there when he starts having deep actual feelings for the boy. He just needs to decide what he wants to do about any of this, and that's not going to happen tonight.

He stops somewhere around Tulsa, and checks in to a hotel before coming back to the Jeep and waking Stiles up.

"Stiles," he shakes gently at the boy's shoulder. "Get up."

"Derek?" Stiles rubs a hand over his eyes and sits up a little. "Where are we?"

"Tulsa," Derek says. "I got us checked in to a hotel."

"With a bed?"

"Yes, Stiles," Derek smiles a little. "Hotels generally have those."

"Don't mock me. I'm tired."

"I know you are," Derek climbs out of the Jeep and walks around to open Stiles' door for him. "Come on."

"You gonna carry me? 'Cause I'm not okay with that."

"I'm not going to carry you," Derek rolls his eyes. "I'm just going to _assist you_ to our room."

"That doesn't sound any better."

"Are you awake enough to walk by yourself to our room?"

"I would be. If I knew where our room was."

"Are you awake enough to follow _me_ back to our room without any help?"

Stiles climbs out of the Jeep and sways a little in place, before turning to glare at Derek. He would have been successful if he didn't look like he just woke up and his hair wasn't sticking up in weird angles.

"I just want to make it clear that I'm not okay with this," Stiles states when he leans against Derek as Derek hooks an arm around his waist.

Derek gets them into the room and places Stiles on the bed. Stiles promptly falls back asleep, leaving Derek to take off his shoes, jeans and shirt. Not that Derek minds. At all. Especially considering the way his dick twitches. He has a second to feel kind of creepy for being turned on about a sleeping Stiles before Stiles opens his eyes.

"Hey there, creeper."

Derek climbs up on the bed until he's on his fours on top of Stiles, and he takes a minute to stare at the pale skin covered in moles, traces his fingers up and down the hair on Stiles' navel, lips curving a bit when he hears Stiles' breath catching. Stiles has his hands fisted on the sheets, but he doesn't move, just lets Derek do whatever he wants. Derek startles a little at that, because he told Stiles when they started this that Stiles would be the one to set the pace, he would be the one to show Derek what it was okay and what was not and how far he wanted to push this.

"What if I told you… you could do whatever you want to me? With me?" Derek asks him, because he figures he can give a little bit, too.

Stiles eyes darken and he runs a tongue over his lip. "Whatever I want?"

"Yes."

"Even dress you up in black and red lace panties and make you sing Lady Gaga to me?"

Derek arches a brow at him and sinks his blunt nails on the skin of Stiles' hip. "Do you by any chance have black and red lace panties with you?"

Stiles closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Derek can make the hard line of Stiles' dick through his boxers, and he runs his thumb over it. Stiles opens his eyes, sits up a little and bats Derek's hand away. "As much as I like that and like knowing you would be willing to wear lace for me, what I really want to do now is come with your dick in my mouth," he raises a hand when Derek opens his mouth. Because really? Derek just said Stiles could do whatever he wanted, and he goes for a blowjob? Not that he's against it, he was just expecting more. But that's Stiles, never doing what's expected of him. "I know that's probably not as fancy as you'd expect it when you said I could do whatever I wanted with you, but I've been wanting to get my mouth on you since this whole thing started so would you please stop being a fucking creeper, lie back, and let me blow your brains out?"

Derek does as he is told and lies back, but he can't help but ask, "Since this whole thing started?"

Stiles is dragging Derek's underwear past his hips, down his knees and off. Derek spreads his legs so Stiles can settle between them on the mattress, and he maybe should think about why they feel so comfortable around each other like this, but all thoughts stop as Stiles bites down on the skin of his inner thigh.

"Don't be obtuse," Stiles says, and licks over the mark already forming. "You totally caught on to the fact that I'm hot for your body." He moves up to bite and lick at Derek's hip. "And your music taste." Nuzzle at his pubic hair. "And your weird sense of humor."

Stiles' breath is hot against the head of Derek's cock, and he's about to tell him to _hurry up_ and _stop talking _when Stiles swallows him down. Derek holds on to the headboard above his head, and it takes every ounce of control he has not to thrust up in Stiles' mouth. The sight of Stiles' red lips stretched out around him would probably be the sexiest thing Derek has ever seen, but then Stiles is releasing him and saying, "You can, you know, fuck my mouth. If you want to."

Stiles sounds _wrecked_, and Derek can't really help it but reach a hand around Stiles' neck and pull him into a kiss, a kiss that tastes like Stiles and himself. Then Derek is pushing Stiles back down and Stiles is hollowing his cheeks and sucking and moaning around him while Derek has a hand in the back of his head, guiding him up and down as Derek thrusts into his mouth.

Derek tries not to be embarrassed that it takes all of four thrusts for him to come down Stiles' throat.

He forgets about all that when he sees the wet spot on Stiles' boxers. The thought that Stiles got off on watching him get off is almost enough to get him hard again.

Stiles gets up from the bed and goes to the bathroom to clean up, then comes back and sprawls himself on top of Derek, kissing him in a spot just behind his ear. "We can go back to sleep now."

"Thanks for giving me permission," Derek deadpans.

"Welcome," Stiles mumbles.

Derek sighs and repositions them in bed with his chest against Stiles' back and a leg thrown over the boy's hip and goes to sleep.

They go to the aquarium, even though Derek claims he has no understanding as of why people would think that staring at fish is considered a form of entertainment. He has to give them props for the walk-through tunnel, though. It sort of makes him feel like he's under the sea. Stiles must think the same thing, because it's not long before he starts humming _Under The Sea_ under his breath.

"The Little Mermaid, huh?"

Stiles shrugs, "I could change to the SpongeBob SquarePants theme song if you'd like."

"Your mind is a scary place."

"Fun and amazing, you mean."

They stop walking through the tunnel so they can take in the sight of the animals swimming all around them. Stiles' eyes looking through everything, and Derek can almost hear the gears in his head spinning with information about what he's seeing. He honestly wonders what it's like inside of Stiles' head sometimes, what it must be like to be able to think about a hundred and two things at once and retain so much information about everything. Mostly he just desperately wishes he could get out of his own head, run away from his thoughts and have at least one second of not feeling guilty for what Laura did.

"Do you think it's my fault?" Derek blurts out.

Stiles turns to him and frowns, "What are you-"

"For not knowing anything was wrong," Derek explains. "With Laura. Do you think it's my fault she…"

"I- What? No! Are you crazy?" Stiles is staring at him with wide intense eyes. "Of course not. Why would I- Did someone say something to you? At the funeral? Who was it? Tell me. I'd tell dad to arrest them. Or hold them up for something. Or just stare at them with his Sheriff eyes until they fess up for something they don't even know they did."

Derek gives him a humorless laugh. He's glad there are not that many people around in the aquarium at this hour to hear about how utterly fucked up he is. "No one said anything."

"They why would you…," Stiles mouth drops open only to snap back shut with a pop. He grabs Derek's face in his hands and forces him to look up. "Derek. _No_. No, okay? You had nothing to do with why Laura- Why she did what she did. You're not," Stiles takes a deep breath. "You're not to blame, okay? It's not your fault. It's not anyone's fault."

It's good to hear someone else say it, Derek thinks, even though he doesn't believe it that much. "I'm the one who found her."

Derek doesn't know why he says it. Maybe it's because it's harder not to say it – like trying to grasp a handful of rain. Maybe it's because he feels like he owes it to Stiles, for driving with him, for being here and not expecting anything in return. Maybe it's because he's tired, just so fucking tired of holding on to the guilt and letting it consume him inside.

Stiles tenses, but he doesn't take his hands from Derek's face. He actually starts rubbing his thumbs up and down Derek's cheek, waiting.

"I thought she was still in bed. Her favorite thing about being a teacher was getting to sleep in during the summer. I went to the garage to get the car so I could go to work," Derek can remember this part perfectly: finishing his coffee and spending five minutes looking for his keys, then grabbing his phone to send a quick text to his boss letting him know he might be late. "I could hear the engine on, but as far as I could see all the lights were off. So I opened the garage door and it smelled like there was a lot of exhaust, but I didn't really… At first I thought it was smoke? That something might…that something might have been on fire? But there was nothing there. No flames, no nothing. Just the cars. I went around to the driver's side of Laura's car, but it was empty, and then I looked in the backseat."

Derek thought she was sleeping. His brain refused to accept any other possible explanation as to why Laura was curled up in the backseat of the car with one of her arms hanging down to the floor, her skin this pasty white-gray color.

Stiles is silent, so Derek takes a deep breath and goes on. "She was. She didn't. She looked like a statue. Like a Laura doll. And I knew. I knew she was gone."

Derek remembers walking outside and sitting on the ground in front of the garage. He remembers calling the police and waiting for the paramedics to get there. He remembers how he wished he could scream but no sound would come out.

He remembers everything and he wishes he didn't.

"I'm so fucking _angry_ at her," Derek tells Stiles. It's hard for him to admit that, and he feels ashamed for being as angry as he is. He knows Laura must have been in a lot of pain, she had to, and he knows it's not fair for him to hate her for it, but he kind of does. He hates her for leaving him all alone, with no one else to turn to. "She didn't even say goodbye, or leave a note, or anything, and I hate her for that. I should have seen it coming. I should have _done _something. I'm her fucking brother for fuck's sake."

"You can't hold yourself responsible for what she did, Derek," Stiles says, so softly Derek can barely hear. "There's nothing you could have done. Nothing."

Derek takes a shaky breath and shakes his head. "You can't know that."

"Yes, I can," Stiles says, leaning closer so their noses are almost touching. "I can know that because if there was anything you _could_ have done you _would_ have. You would have helped your sister, no questions asked. So stop blaming yourself. The reason you didn't do anything is not because you're a bad brother or a bad person, but because there was absolutely nothing you could have done to change Laura's mind because no one had any idea what she was going through. And the reason no one had any idea was because she was exceptionally good at hiding it. So stop with the guilt trip. It's not your fault."

Derek stares into Stiles' eyes, into all that understanding and intensity as if he'll beat the guilt out of Derek if he has to. So Derek takes another deep breath, pecks Stiles on the lips, and lets the guilt go.


	14. The Funny Choice

**A/N: **SO THE SOUNDTRACK IS AVAILABLE FOR DOWNLOAD NOW?

i'll be posting all the mixes and songs mentioned along the story here - _indoor fireworks_ is already up -, so you can download them or listen to them or do whatever it is that you want to do.

**warnings** for the fault in our stars spoilers.

* * *

The afternoon is blazing by the time Derek and Stiles hit St. Louis. After the aquarium they decided to spend another night in Oklahoma before heading to Missouri - which was a good thing, considering how fucking exhausted Derek felt after admitting he felt guilty about Laura.

They set out for the Gateway Arch. There are white pod-type cars for the trip up, and in a few minutes they're at the top viewing area, where the small windows treat them to a breathtaking view of the city and the blue sky.

"This is…" Stiles trails off.

"Like falling," Derek fills in, and Stiles laughs.

"I can't believe you remember that."

"It's hard to forget something when you're standing on top of glass in the Grand Canyon."

"You mean it's hard to forget something when you're terrified out of your mind that you'll fall to a horrible death, right?"

"I wasn't terrified," Derek frowns, because he hadn't been. "It just felt…"

"Like falling," Stiles says, and Derek rolls his eyes.

"I'm not discussing this with you anymore."

"Which means I win," Stiles beams at him.

"No one wins."

"You're only saying that because you lost."

"I'm only saying that because it's true."

"That's what a loser would say," Stiles pokes him in the arm and Derek grabs his hand securely in his, but they don't say anything else.

They buy some chili hot dogs and Cokes after they get down, and go for a walk through the park.

"What do you want to do next?" Derek asks Stiles. "Museums? Garden tour? The zoo?"

"No zoos. They make me depressed," Stiles says, frowning.

"No zoos. They make me depressed," Stiles says, frowning.

"Zoos make you depressed," Derek says flatly.

"Yes. When I was in third grade we went on a field trip to a zoo and I tried to convince Scott to help me free the penguins so they could be free to find their life mates in other zoos if they wanted to."

"Life mates."

"Is this the thing where you repeat everything I say again?" Stiles rolls his eyes. "And yes, life mates. Penguins mate for life, and I thought they should, you know, have options. Not just the other penguins stuck in the zoo with them."

Derek stares at Stiles for a minute before saying, "It's good to know your weirdness was already there when you were a kid."

"And I bet your broodiness was already there when _you _were a kid," Stiles raises an eyebrow at him.

Derek rubs his hand over his face and sighs. "Does this mean you don't want to do anything?"

"We could just chill in the park until we're bored," Stiles shrugs.

"Knowing you, that won't take very long."

"Shut up," Stiles punches Derek in the arm, then reaches a hand inside his pocket and pulls out a deck of cards. "How about you show me how you won all that money and got us kicked out of Vegas?"

"I wasn't the one who got us kicked out of Vegas," Derek narrows his eyes at Stiles.

"Technicalities," Stiles brushes him off with a wave of his hand. "So, are you gonna teach me or not?"

So that's how Derek spends his afternoon, sitting on the grass and hopelessly trying to teach Stiles how to play poker along with the benefits of having a poker face, the latter which is something Stiles fails spectacularly at. He understand the rules of the game perfectly, but when it comes to turn his expression blank and not give anything of what he's thinking away, it just doesn't work. It's not so much as he can't control his face muscles as it is the way his eyes give everything up. That's probably one of Derek's favorite things about Stiles, how you can tell everything he's thinking about by staring at those golden brown eyes of his.

At some point Stiles gives up on trying to win a game and they move on to playing crosswords on Stiles' phone. They're on their third round when Stiles starts feeling sleepy, his grip on his phone loosens and he gets smacked in the face with it, making Derek burst out laughing. They lay down on the grass, Stiles' head pillowed on Derek's chest, and Derek stares at the sky while Stiles sleeps. He gets bored after a while and starts tracing the line of Stiles nose with a grass leaf, lips twitching up a little every time Stiles wrinkles his nose or huffs in his sleep. It gets even better when Stiles makes a movement to try and bat whatever it is that's disturbing his sleep out of the way and ends up smacking his on face. He rolls of Derek, clutching his nose, while Derek buries his face in his hands and laughs until his stomach hurts.

"Stop laughing at me," Stiles snaps, voice muffled behind his hand.

"No," Derek says, trying to calm down. He's not being very successful, though.

"You know," Stiles rubs a hand his nose. "This will get back to you. And when it does, I'll be near. And I'll be laughing."

"Sure you will," Derek says, and he's still smiling. He grabs Stiles by the wrist and pulls the boy to him. "Here, let me see. You can't possibly have smacked yourself in the face that hard."

"You'd be surprised," Stiles mumbles.

Stiles' nose and part of his cheek are red from where his hand connected with his face, Derek snorts a laugh and traces the redden skin with his fingers. "You are a danger to yourself."

"And others if you don't stop laughing at me," Stiles narrows his eyes.

"It was funny," Derek shrugs.

"It hurt," and Stiles is actually pouting when he says that, so Derek can't resist but lean forward and kiss him.

The pizza in St. Louis tastes different. Not bad different, just… different.

"It's called Provel cheese," Stiles says, and Derek is not even impressed because he knows by now that that's the kind of shit he has in his head.

Now they're at some place, listening to jazz, because Stiles claims it would be nothing short of tragic and an insult to the universe if they passed through St. Louis without soaking up some music.

Derek doesn't know if he'd go so far as to use the word tragic, but he agrees with the insult to the universe part. He always feels like you should expose yourself to whatever it is the place you're in has to offer, because you never know who or what you might find.

"Every place you go is new, even if you've been there a million times before. Because every time you go there, you notice something different. And every other person who's been there will notice something different." Laura told him in one of their trips to New York as they made their way through the city. "And everyone you meet is better than you are at something, but you'll never know that unless you take the time to get to know them. People are interesting, and everyone comes from a different background, and they all have different opinions on things, and most of the time they don't even realize how unprecedented they are."

That's how he thinks of Stiles, sometimes. Stiles is so busy being him that he has no idea how utterly unprecedented he is. And right now he thinks Laura would be proud of him for paraphrasing John Green. He snorts at the thought, and Stiles takes his eyes from the slice of pizza in his hand to look up at Derek.

"What?"

"Nothing," Derek shakes his head.

"It's totally something, dude," Stiles says, pursing his lips. "You have a face."

"Of course I have a face, Stiles. I think it would be worrying if I didn't."

Stiles rolls his eyes, "I told you to stop trying to be funny. And you know what I mean. You have a face. A face that tells me you're reminiscing about shit."

"I was," Derek says, but doesn't offer more than that. He likes to see Stiles squirm.

"I know that," Stiles puffs his cheeks before letting the air out. "What I want to know is what you were thinking about."

"Why didn't you just ask?" Because getting a rise out of Stiles might be one of Derek's favorite things.

"Oh my god, would you stop deflecting and answer the fucking question?"

"There's no need to be mad."

Stiles makes a noise like a dying animal and throws a pepperoni at Derek's head. Who catches it with his mouth. Only to have Stiles start banging his head on the table repeatedly.

Deciding to put Stiles out of his misery, Derek answers, "I was thinking about _The Fault In Our Stars_. And how much Laura liked John Green."

"Dude," Stiles takes his head from the table. "That book is the worst thing that ever happened to me."

Derek remembers Stiles' mother died from cancer, and now he feels like an asshole for bringing it up and not coming up with lie about what he'd been thinking. But Stiles continues talking.

"But it was so fucking beautiful. To have two kids like that, in the fucked up situation they're in, I just. Fuck. I could relate so much to it. Of their choice to tell the sad stories the funny way. And how their thoughts are stars they can't fathom into constellations. That the world is not a wish-granting factory. And how pain demands to be felt," Stiles voice cracks a little bit at the last words. "I understood. Because I'm a sad kid making the funny choice. And my thoughts are falling stars. And I know that the world doesn't owe you or me anything, no matter how much we might think otherwise. And we both know that pretending things are fine doesn't magically makes it true."

Derek knows he just got a glimpse of what's like inside Stiles' head he doesn't think many people have seen - if anyone's ever seen it at all. It's fucked up that he hides it, that he even thinks like this in the first place, that an eighteen year old should ever have to feel like this ever in his life.

But just like Stiles, Derek understands. He understands sadness and misery and loss better than anyone, because he's lived with it every day for five years. And it may not appear like it, but he also knows when to make the funny choice instead of the sad one, so that's why he says, "I cried for a whole week afterwards every time Laura said the word _okay_. I think sometimes she did it just to see the tears and laugh at me."

Stiles takes the out, smiling sadly at Derek. "I did too. And the best and worst part was that Scott had no idea what was wrong, so he kept asking me if I was okay and that only made me-"

"Cry harder," Derek finishes.

"Yeah," and Stiles smile looks a little bit more real this time. "So he started freaking out until he was crying too. Lydia and Allison found us hugging each other and sobbing and laughing at the same time, but instead of trying to calm us down they just pulled out their phones and filmed the whole thing."

"Do you think they still have the video?"

"Why would you-", Stiles brows furrows, but his eyes widen at seeing Derek's smile. "Oh, hell no! Nope. No way. No, they don't have the video. The video does not exist. In fact, forget I ever said anything about it."

"I can't do that. I always remember everything you say."

"That's…," Stiles blinks at Derek a few times. "The sweetest thing you've ever said to me and I can't believe it's because you want to see a video of me crying with Scott."

"Do you think there'd be a video of you doing more interesting things?" Derek asks, arching an eyebrow at Stiles.

"I…," Stiles swallows, his cheeks reddening a bit. "That could be arranged."

"I can't believe your making me do this," Stiles complains for the eleventh time since they got back to their hotel room.

"You said it could be arranged," Derek points out.

"I thought you meant something else!"

"You thought I meant something else," Derek muses, smiling a little.

"And you really were serious about remembering everything I say, weren't you?"

"Yes."

"I don't know if that's kind of creepy or incredibly sweet."

Derek shrugs, because he things of it more like a curse. He picks up his phone and sets it to video, angling it so he can get Stiles just right.

"Whenever you're ready," Derek says.

"I'll never be ready," Stiles says, jumping a little bit in place. "This is ridiculous. I don't know why I'm doing this. I shouldn't be doing this. I have a really bad feeling this will come back to bite my in the ass."

Derek just stares at him, waiting for Stiles to calm down. When that doesn't happen, Derek says, "We don't have to do this if you don't want to."

But Derek really wants Stiles to do it. He should say they don't really need to film the whole thing, but Derek likes the idea of having this saved for a rainy day.

Stiles must read this in Derek's face, and he should be bothered by how good Stiles has gotten at being able to take one look at him to know what he wants. "I'm doing this, but I want you to promise me something first."

"Promise you what?"

"And I want you to know that Stilinski promises are never meant to be broken."

"Promise you what?"

"You'll never show this to anyone. It's bad enough Lydia knows I can do it. Erica and the others don't need the ammunition. Especially not Jackson. So promise me you'll use this for your entertainment only, and I'll do it."

"How did you get Lydia not to say anything?"

"I told her I'd go shopping with her whenever she wanted, no questions asked, for the rest of my life."

"I'm sorry," Derek says honestly, because he thinks Lydia in a shopping streak must be a scary and possibly painful thing to witness.

"It's fine," Stiles waves him off. "But you have to promise me."

"I promise," Derek tells him, because he didn't really intend to show this to anyone, ever. Just like Stiles said, he would use this to his own entertainment only.

"Okay, put the music on."

Derek grabs Stiles' iPod connected to his speakers and presses play, the sounds filling the room as Stiles recreates the Just Dance 2 choreography to _Spice Up Your Life_.

And this just might just be the funniest and hottest thing he's even seen.


	15. Roller Coasters

**A/N**: giving you guys another chapter because i'm going to paris for the weekend and i'm not sure how alive i'll be by the time sunday comes ~

* * *

Derek has been watching the video of Stiles dancing to the Spice Girls on repeat for the past half hour as they drive to Chicago. Stiles is ignoring him. Derek knows Stiles won't last much longer without saying anything, so he'll enjoy it while it lasts.

It's about ten minutes and two more times of watching Stiles shaking his hips that Stiles finally snaps at him, "Will you please stop watching that?"

"No," because Derek is still having a hard time with how hot Stiles dancing is. He can't imagine what it would be like if Stiles was dancing for real, in a club, with Derek grinding behind him, instead of to a Spice Girls song.

"_Derek_," Stiles whines, changing tactics when ignoring and being mad at Derek doesn't work.

"Stiles."

"Please?" and again there's pouting involved. Slick red lips pushing forward, and all Derek wants to do is bite them.

"Don't pout," he tells Stiles instead, because there's only so much control he has, and he really doesn't want Stiles to drive off the road and crash the Jeep when Derek jumps him.

"But it looks good on me," Stiles shrugs.

"So does you dancing," Derek says back.

"Really?" Stiles asks, surprised. "That's why you're watching it? Because you like seeing me dance, and not because I made a fool out of myself?"

"It's hot," Derek shrugs.

"Hot," Stiles says, as if testing the word in his mouth. "Dancing Stiles is hot."

"Yes."

"_What the fuck are you even talking about_? How does me being a spaz equals hot?"

"You know how to move your hips."

"I know how to move my- Oh." And Derek knows he's got it. "_Oh_."

"Yes. Now can I go back to watching you?"

"That's a creepy thing to say, Derek."

"Stiles."

"Yes, you can go back to watching me," and Derek doesn't miss the small smile playing on Stiles' lips.

They go to Six Flags, because Stiles is still secretly five years old. Until then, Derek doesn't think it is possible for someone to be that awake and moving at such an early hour in the morning, but he guesses that the prospect of spending the day in an amusement park is all it takes for Stiles to be jumping up and down their hotel room since six in the morning.

"Stiles," Derek mumbles from his place on the bed.

"Yes?"

"You do know the park only opens at ten."

Stiles looks up from where he's sitting on the floor, his bag opened and half of his clothes scattered around him. "I need to find something to wear."

"You need to-" Derek stops and sighs, before rubbing a hand across his face and sitting up on the bed. "How is that- I don't- _Why_?"

"It needs to be something that can get dirty and possibly wet and/or stained and that is comfortable and not too warm and that I don't mind ruining in case something happens and I start bleeding."

"Why would you start bleeding?" Derek really wants to know where Stiles comes up with this stuff. And how it all makes sense in his head.

"It's happened before," Stiles shrugs. "There was this one time Lydia made me go with her on those tea cup rides? They are _the actual worst_. When I stepped out of it and so dizzy I might have tripped? And fallen? And hit my head a little bit?"

"You don't sound so sure about it."

"I'm not," and he shrugs again. "One minute I was walking out of it and the next I was on the ground and there was blood running down my forehead."

"You are a danger to yourself," Derek mutters, shaking his head a little.

"You've said that before."

"And I mean it."

Stiles goes back to his clothes, and Derek stares at him for a few minutes before getting up and sitting crossed legged in front of the duffel bag.

"What are you doing?" Stiles asks,

"Helping."

"Why?"

"Because this will go faster if I do," Derek says, holding out a shirt to Stiles.

"Not that one," Stiles grabs the shirt from Derek's hand and throws it on top of a pile of clothes on his left side. "Why do you care how long I take to do this? You can just go back to sleep."

"I care because if we do this fast, you can come back to bed with me."

"I don't think I can go back to sleep, dude," Stiles throws another shirt in the pile.

"I never said anything about sleeping," Derek raises a brow at him.

Stiles smirks at Derek, "I like how you think, Hale."

Derek picks up another shirt and throws it at Stiles' head. "Wear this one."

"This one?" Stiles stares at the Led Zeppelin shirt for a few seconds. "Why this one?"

"Because it's new," Derek says as he lies back down on the bed.

"I don't think I understand your logic here," Stiles gets up and kneels on the bed, crawling until he's standing on all fours on top of Derek.

"All your other shirts look like they've been through war," Derek pulls a little on the collar of the shirt Stiles is wearing as if to illustrate his point. "It's only fair this one gets the same treatment."

"Are you trying to tell me I need new clothes?" Stiles sits back, his ass to Derek's crotch, and rolls his hips a little bit.

"I'm trying to tell you you look hot in your clothes," Derek answers, tugging Stiles' shirt up.

"Please tell me you weren't about to say I look hotter without them," Stiles leans in and catches Derek's lips in his own, licking his way into Derek's mouth.

Derek sucks on Stiles' tongue, nips lightly as his lips and flips them over so Stiles is beneath him. He moves down to kiss and bite his way from Stiles' lips to his jaw, neck, down his chest, stopping to tease his nipples, and trying not to be too smug about the moan he gets from Stiles. Stiles' hands are firmly placed on his hair, and Derek takes every scratch of blunt nail on his scalp and pull of his hair as an encouragement to bite harder and just never ever stop.

"Fuck, _Derek_," Stiles gasps as Derek runs his tongue on the underside of his cock and sucks on the head, before moving down to lick at the soft skin of his balls.

"What are you doing?" Stiles asks as Derek moves lower.

"Tell me if I do something you don't like."

"I think that's never gonna happen, dude," Stiles licks and bite down on his lower lip. "Like, ever."

"That's good to hear," Derek chuckles and pats Stiles lightly on the thigh. "Turn over."

"Why?"

"Because I'm gonna make it worth your while, that's why," Derek says, and taps Stiles again.

Stiles turns over so that he's on his belly on the bed, ass just inches away from Derek's face. Derek bites down on Stiles' cheek, making Stiles yelp I protest.

"Dude, _not cool_."

Derek spreads Stiles' cheeks with his hands, and runs a tentative tongue over Stiles' hole.

Stiles bucks and curses, "Holy fucking _hell_."

"Do you want me to stop?" Derek asks, breath against Stiles' ass.

Stiles lifts his head up from his arms and turns to narrow his eyes at Derek. "You stop and I'll punch you in the throat."

Derek pushes Stiles' cheeks apart again, tracing a finger over the wet hole, and goes down again, placing open mouth kisses there. He presses his tongue into Stiles, feeling how Stiles clenches around him, and it's not long before he's sliding a finger in.

"Oh my- Fuck. Derek. _Please._"

He fucks Stiles with his tongue and finger while Stiles shamelessly ruts on the mattress, looking for some sort of friction.

"God. Derek. Please. I. Fuck. I need you to touch me. _Please,_ just touch me."

Derek gets a hand underneath Stiles, gripping him tight. It only takes a couple of tugs before Stiles is coming.

"_Derek_," Stiles gasps, spilling over Derek's hand.

Derek moves his body up on the bed, looking for his own release as he settles his dick between Stiles' ass cheeks and starts thrusting. The head of his cock slides over Stiles' hole, and the promise of what they could be doing, of how Derek could be _inside_ of him, is enough to make him bite down on Stiles' shoulder and come.

"Derek. Can't… breathe." Stiles says, after a few seconds when Derek still hasn't moved.

Derek slowly moves off of Stiles, lying beside him on the bed. Stiles wriggles his hips a bit and scrunches up his nose.

"Dude, there's jizz on my ass. Like, running down my balls."

Derek turns to him and traces his tongue over Stiles' lower lip. "I could lick it clean if you want."

"Holy _fuck_, Derek. You can't say shit like that," Stiles says, pressing his face down on the pillow.

"Then stop complaining."

"I'm not complaining. I'm just making an observation. I've never had come in my ass before."

Derek stops nuzzling Stiles cheek and pulls back, feeling… He doesn't know what he's feeling right now. He'd been certain Stiles had done this before "You've never done this before?"

Stiles must see something on Derek's face because he moves closer, nudging Derek's nose with his. "I've done this before, it's just… usually I'm the one coming in someone's ass."

Derek stares at Stiles and blinks a couple of times. The image of Stiles stretching him open and fucking him is making his dick twitch. It's not something he's ever done with anyone before, but Stiles isn't just anyone. "We could do that… if you want."

"I want," Stiles whispers, pecking him on the lips. "But I also want what we just did. It was fucking _hot_, dude."

Derek snorts a laugh and nips at Stiles' nose. "Shut up. And don't call me dude."

"Whatever," he says, and moves closer to Derek. "Wake me up when it's time for the park."

The first ride Stiles drags Derek to is The Dark Knight coaster. Derek thinks about suggesting they go to the Superman one first, but after seeing Stiles' jumping up and down in place and beaming, he just went along with it. Plus, Derek thinks that if he ever tried to delay Stiles from anything Batman, he'd probably end up getting punched in the face.

The ride begins with a clip from the movie and, well, darkness. Derek can make Stiles' smile from the soft light coming off the screen, and he shakes his head in silent amusement when Stiles grabs his wrist and gives it a squeeze. He has to admit the movie is kind of cool, especially when it starts cutting through the images and you can hear the Joker's laughter over it all.

The rest of the ride is still made in the dark, with some lights flickering and a Batman statue that doesn't move. Sometimes you can hear the Joker's voice asking you why you are so serious, then there are some more statues and lights, but overall, Derek doesn't think the ride is all that great. And judging by the face Stiles' is making when they get out of it, he agrees.

"That was lame."

"Yes, it was."

"You would think no one could make Batman lame, but they did it."

"I'm sorry," Derek says, trying hard not to laugh. Stiles looks like someone who just found out Santa isn't real.

"Maybe the other Batman coaster will be better?" Stiles asks, hopeful.

"Maybe," Derek offers. "But can we go to the Superman one first?"

Stiles laughs at him and says, "Yes, we can go to the Superman coaster first."

Derek really doesn't want to say he has better taste in rides, but as they get seated and secured in the Superman one, it turns out that he does. They go through a tunnel, fast, and upwards, only to be pulled backwards and then pushed forward again, faster than before. Derek and Stiles turn to smile at each other, and they both can hear other people screaming as they come to the 360-degree in-line roll.

The coaster ride is a short but fast one, and Derek has to loop an arm around Stiles' waist as they stumble out of the ride. Stiles' smile stretching so wide it must be making his cheeks hurt.

"That was awesome!" Stiles says, and fist bumps the air.

They go to King Chaos next, which basically consists of being attached to a chair in a row of them and rolling in circles through the air at different heights. They both laugh the entire time they're in the air, and get out of the ride dizzier than ever.

"I think I need to sit down for a bit," Stiles says, holding on to Derek's and staring at the ground. "I'm tea cups dizzy times ten."

"Tea cups dizzy?"

"Tea cups dizzy."

Derek moves Stiles so that he can throw an arm around the boy's shoulders and hold him securely to his side. "Better?"

"Better," Stiles says, and places a kiss on Derek's cheek.

They have pizza for lunch and Ben & Jerry's for dessert, and then Stiles is taking Derek to the Batman coaster. They sit with their feet dangling below and go through hairpin turns, vertical loops, corkscrews, and a zero-gravity heartline spin.

Stiles gets out smiling big.

"You happy?" Derek asks, lips twitching at Stiles' expression.

"That was a true Batman ride."

"I doubt Batman rides roller coasters."

"You never know, Derek. You never know."

They go on a couple of more rides and eat some more ice cream, and by the time they get back to the hotel Derek has a sore ache in his muscles from walking around all day. Stiles managed to get a light sunburn, making his nose and cheek look kind of an angry red, so Derek makes him stop at a drug store to pick up some aloe.

Derek is sitting on the bed with Stiles straddling his legs, while he rubs some of the aloe on the boy's face. Stiles has his eyes closed, bottom lip pushed forward in a pout, and he tries to turn his face away every time Derek's fingers brush over a sensitive spot. Derek just keeps his hold on Stiles' chin firm and kisses him on the lips as an apology.

"At least we didn't go to any of the water rides," Derek says, after he's finished. "It would've been worse if you burned your back and shoulders."

"Damn to being a fair-skinned hot guy," Stiles sighs, and drops his head on Derek's shoulder.

Derek snorts and brings one hand to the back of Stiles' neck and the other to the small of his back, pulling him closer before dropping a kiss to the boy's shoulder. "I like this fair-skinned hot guy."

Stiles lifts his head up to kiss him, fingers twisting in Derek's hair. "This fair-skinned hot guy likes you back," he mumbles against Derek's lips. "A lot."

"Yeah?" Derek asks, and runs his tongue over Stiles' lips. He doesn't know what kind of answer he expects, if he's ready to know yet, but some part of him needs to know if this is just a summer hook up for Stiles, or if it could be something more – if it is something more.

All the air rushes out of Derek's lungs as Stiles pulls back to stare at him, and he takes the intense look on the boy's eyes. "Yeah," Stiles says, lips turned in a small smile, and then they're kissing again.


	16. Everlasting Light

**A/N:** here is the chapter that was meant for yesterday ~

* * *

"You want to know why I love music?"

They're driving through Indiana and Derek knows better than to stop or question Stiles when he's on one of his rants about music. Stiles can talk a lot, but he rarely talks with this much passion about anything else, so Derek knows to keep mostly quiet and watch him while he does it.

"Enlighten me."

"Eric Clapton had a four-year-old son who fell forty-nine stories through an open window of their apartment and died," Stiles says.

Derek stares at him in return, waiting to see how this could possibly be relevant to his point.

"Clapton wrote this song about it, after, and it just- It rips your heart out," Stiles continues. "It's the best kind of devastating there is. He took his pain and turned into something beautiful. Into something that people connect to. And that's what good music does. It speaks to you. It changes you." Stiles takes a deep breath and glances over at Derek before turning his eyes back to the road. "What I'm trying to say is, it's just nice, I guess, knowing that someone else can put into words what I feel. That there are people who have been through worse than I have, and they came out on the other side okay. Not only that, but they made some kind of twisted, fucked up sense of the completely senseless. They made it mean something. These songs tell me that I'm not alone. If you look at it that way, music… music can see you through anything."

Derek continues to stare at Stiles because it _is_ nice knowing that someone else can put into words what he feels, and Stiles just did that. As much as his passion for music comes from his parents and the way he was raised, it's also something that he chose to embrace because of how it spoke to him. If there was music playing, he could forget himself in notes and lyrics and not think about how he was the last man standing. He thinks Stiles' understanding of this comes from his mother dying and the Sheriff, being the Sheriff, not being around much after that.

They understand death, they have experienced it and they've seen those they love perish from it. It tainted them, broke them and it made them sad and so much older than they look or should feel, but they're not alone. They found each other, and through music they found so much more than that.

"If you had to pick a song to be the one you were known for, what song would it be?" Derek asks Stiles after a few moments of silence.

"_Dear Mr. Fantasy_," Stiles says, without even thinking about it. "By Traffic."

Derek raises his eyebrows at that. He's not surprised Stiles already has a song picked out, he's just didn't think it would be this one. But after taking a second to think about the lyrics and think about Stiles and putting both those things together, he can see it why this song would be his choice.

"I can see why you'd pick that one," Derek says softly, because he wishes he didn't see it.

"But you wish I had a different answer," Stiles sighs and Derek nods. "What about you?"

"_Hurt_," Derek says.

"Johnny Cash."

"Yes."

"Now I'm the one wishing you had a different answer," Stiles mutters under his breath.

Derek shrugs.

With that, Stiles stops the car and unbuckles his seat belt.

"What are you doing?" Derek asks.

Stiles ignores his question and turns to look at him. Derek presses his lips in a thin line and breathes in deep, because judging from the angry look on Stiles' face he's not going to like what he's about to hear.

"Of course you would pick a song that's broody and angsty and dark just like you are. I can totally see why you would go with that. It's a song that makes you sound like you're the one to blame for, well, everything that went wrong with your life. And that you can't possibly be a good person because of that. But it also sounds like a cry for help. That you still have hope someone will come for you and make you okay again." Stiles grabs Derek by the back of his neck and pulls him closer. "And, well, I'll help you. As long as you'll help me, too. You know you're not the only one who's broken, here. We're both hurt, and we've both been through a lot. You more than me, but that still doesn't mean I don't understand a little bit of what you're going through. I loved Laura too. So, I'm here. I'm here and I'll help you. This trip is the happiest I've been for a while now and I think part of it is because you're here too. So, I don't know, man. Let me in. Let me show you this is not on you. Just- just _let me_."

Derek is stunned. He wasn't expecting this. He didn't expect Stiles to feel something more for him, to be willing to do that with him, for him. All Derek knew was that he felt a little less broken whenever Stiles was near, laughing, making jokes, talking nonstop and singing under his breath. And maybe a little less broken is the best he can hope for right now.

"We got more than we bargained for when I agreed to let you come out here with me, huh?" Derek asks, resting his forehead against Stiles'.

"Yeah," Stiles whispers. "We really did."

They stop at a hotel, and it's not a surprise that when they get into the room Stiles is grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and tugging him forward. Derek makes a muffled sound in the back of his throat before his mouth opens against Stiles'. Derek walks them backwards towards the bed, until he's sitting down with Stiles straddling his hips. Stiles pulls back from the kiss and shifts into his lap, bringing his ass down on Derek's half-hard cock, then tips his head back down and licks a strip from Derek's collarbone up to his ear.

"Want you inside me," Stiles whispers, before sucking Derek's earlobe in his mouth.

Derek has his hands under the waistband of Stiles' jeans, cupping his ass, and at that he pulls Stiles flush against him and thrusts up. Derek pulls his mouth back from leaving a mark in Stiles' neck and looks at him, taking in Stiles' flushed cheeks, swollen lips and pupils blown dark with lust.

"You sure?" Derek asks, because he needs the reassurance, needs to know this is something Stiles is okay with, because Derek wouldn't mind at all if things went a different way. If it was Stiles pounding into him, fucking him, making him come.

Stiles runs his hands down Derek's chest and up under his shirt, nails scratching lightly at his abs. "Yeah, I'm sure."

Derek's hands move up to grab Stiles' hips, "Then get up and get naked."

Stiles laughs and kisses him one more time before getting up and taking his shirt of. He takes a little more time unbuttoning his pants and sliding it pass his hips and knees, then kicks them away along with his socks. He stands there in his boxers, panting a little, and arches an eyebrow at Derek.

"I'm only getting naked if you are," Stiles says, pointing at Derek who still has all his clothes on. "So if you want my ass you better get on with it."

Derek gets up from the bed and walks up to Stiles, stopping close enough so they're almost chest to chest. He grips the hem of his shirt and pulls it up in one fluid movement, and he can't help but smirk at the way Stiles' breath hitches. As soon as his shirt touches the floor Stiles' mouth is on Derek's chest, licking and biting all the way down from his collarbone to his navel, teeth sometimes scraping over his nipples.

Derek grabs Stiles by the back of his neck and pulls him back up to lick his way into the boy's mouth, sucking on his tongue, moving down to mouth at his neck and bite down at his pulse point. Stiles groans and rocks his hips forward, moving to fumble with the button and zipper of Derek's jeans. Stiles gets Derek's jeans open and tugs them down until Derek can step out of them, and now they're both standing in the room, hard and flushed, wearing only their boxers.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous," Stiles says, coming up to kiss Derek again, this time slower, deeper.

Derek guides them back to the bed just like this, never breaking contact. He lets go once the back of Stiles' knees bump on the bed, letting the boy move up on the mattress before climbing in after him. Stiles spreads his legs so Derek can settle between them, and they both gasp in each other's mouths as their dicks ground together through their boxers.

"We need to," Stiles groans when Derek sucks a mark on his collarbone. "Get naked-er."

"That's not a word," Derek mumbles against the skin of Stiles' chest, and runs his tongue over one of Stiles' nipples.

Stiles' hands go to their favorite place, tugging at Derek's hair and forcing his head lower. Derek chuckles against Stiles' stomach and lets Stiles guide him to where he wants to, stopping to dip his tongue into Stiles' bellybutton. Stiles actually whimpers at that, hips rocking up, and Derek can feel the hard line of Stiles' dick against his chest, dripping precome. Derek bites lightly at Stiles' hip before licking a stripe over Stiles' cock over his boxers.

"Okay, that's it," Stiles takes his hands from Derek's hair and pushes him aside. Derek gets the awful feeling he did something wrong, and he's just about to apologize when Stiles lifts his hips and takes his own underwear off before lying back down on the bed. Derek looks up at Stiles, who shrugs. "You were taking too long."

Derek shakes his head before getting up and getting rid of the last of his clothes. He settles himself back between Stiles legs and takes him in his mouth without warning. Stiles' hips buck up and he groans, his hands fisted on the sheets. Derek lets Stiles fuck his mouth, moaning around him whenever Stiles' grip on his shoulders tightens. But then Stiles is pushing him away again, and Derek tilts his head to the side in confusion.

"If we keep," Stiles swallows, breathing hard. "If we keep doing that I'm gonna come."

Derek raises an eyebrow at that and runs his tongue over the head of Stiles' cock. "I want you to come."

"I can come when you're inside me."

"I want you to come then, too," Derek says, and Stiles' dick twitches. "But now I want you to come in my mouth."

Derek swallows him down again, and it only takes a couple of minutes before Stiles is throwing his head back, spilling come down Derek's throat. Derek swallows it all down and then kisses his way back up Stiles' chest. Stiles looks up dazedly at him before pulling him down in a kiss.

"I have condoms and lube in my bag," Stiles says against his lips.

"You have condoms and lube in your bag," Derek repeats. He closes his eyes and buries his face in Stiles neck. He doesn't know whether to feel incredibly turned on that Stiles came prepared for something like this to happen between them or mad for thinking that maybe it wasn't about him at all.

He can feel Stiles shrug when he says, "I had hope."

"You had hope," Derek says, lifting his head up to look at Stiles.

"You're repeating everything I say again," Stiles tells him, and then smiles smugly up at him. "I might have had some hope that along the way you'd fall for my charm and wits and incredibly hot ass. Which actually happened, so."

"You're incorrigible," Derek says, and shakes his head.

"I'm _awesome_ is what you meant to say."

Derek gets up from the bed and grabs Stiles' bag, coming back with a bottle of lube and condoms. He opens the cap up and squirts some on his fingers before kneeling back between Stiles legs.

"You're sure about this?" Derek asks again.

Stiles sits up and cups Derek's face in his hands. "If you don't put your dick in my any time soon I'll find someone who will."

Derek stares at Stiles, feeling a little stunned, and then Stiles is lying back down and spreading his legs wider. Derek reaches down, fingers tracing at Stiles' hole, teasing, before he slips a knuckle in. He waits for Stiles to relax around him and then starts fucking his finger in and out of him until Stiles is moving his hips to meet his every movement.

"Derek. I need. _More_."

Stiles is getting hard again, so Derek complies, slipping another finger inside. He waits for Stiles to relax and adjust before he resumes moving his fingers, scissoring him open and looking for that spot that'll make Stiles see stars. He crocks his fingers a certain way, and judging by the way Stiles thrusts up and shouts his name, he's found it.

"_Derek!_ Fuck. Yeah, right _there_," Stiles gasps. "Come on, gimme another one."

Derek slips a third finger inside and he thinks Stiles looks beautiful like this, stretched around his fingers, cock hard and skin flushed, breathing hard and fucking himself on Derek's hand. Derek's other hand goes to grip at the base of his cock, otherwise this will be over before it even starts. When Derek thinks Stiles is as stretched as he'll ever be, he slides on a condom and slicks himself up with lube. He positions himself right at Stiles' hole, and Stiles tugs at Derek's hair softly, kissing him messily and moaning against Derek's lips as Derek presses into him.

Stiles is hot and tight around him, and all Derek can do is pant against Stiles' mouth and not move. That is until Stiles slaps his ass and says, "_Move_, you jerk."

So Derek moves, pulling almost all the way out and then slamming back in. He gathers one of Stiles' legs and props it up on his shoulder, the new angle doing wonders for both of them. Derek gets lost in the feel and heat of Stiles, in the way he moves against him and with him, the sounds he makes while being fucked, how red his lips look from biting down on them to keep his moans in check.

Through it all, Stiles doesn't stop talking. There's a chorus of _fucks _and _gods _and _don't stop never stop_ that Derek swallows down, kissing Stiles hard, biting down on the marks he made in the boy's neck. Derek's thrusts are hard and fast, his rhythm faltering as he gets closer and closer to coming. Stiles has a hand on his dick, jerking himself off in time with Derek's thrusts, so Derek bats Stiles' hand away, replacing it with his. It only takes a few more rolls of his hips and a couple of tugs with his hand and Stiles is coming, head thrown back, eyes closed, and mouth opened. The way he looks right now and the feeling of his muscles clenching around Derek is all it takes to trip Derek over the edge and collapse against Stiles.

"You're crushing me," Stiles gives Derek's shoulder a tap when Derek doesn't make any moves to get off of him.

Derek pulls out, ties the condom and throws it in the trash, then lies back down on the bed, facing Stiles.

"We should do that again," Stiles says, smiling curving at his lips. "Like, multiple times. In different positions."

Derek huffs and kisses him lazily. He agrees that they should keep doing this, only maybe next time Stiles should be the one fucking him. He knows he's fixating a little, but he can't get over how hot that would be.

"We need a song," Stiles says, startling Derek out of his thoughts.

"What," Derek says flatly, because what the fuck is Stiles talking about?

"We need a song," Stiles repeats, shuffling on the bed so he can get a grip on Derek's bag where it lays on the floor. He comes up with Derek's iPod and his speakers. "With the risk of sounding a lot like Rory Gilmore when she lost her virginity to Dean, but we need a song to remember this moment. Because even though I am not a virgin in any way, you are one of the few people who have had the pleasure of fucking me in the ass, so I think it's appropriate."

Derek just stares at Stiles while he fumbles with the iPod, not knowing what to say. He settles for an "okay", because he knows Stiles will do whatever the fuck he wants to do, even if that's finding a song to celebrate their fucking.

"Oh, I found it!" Stiles says, and presses play. Derek smiles as _Everlasting Light_ by The Black Keys starts playing, turning to kiss Stiles' neck as the boy whispers the lyrics into his skin.


	17. Stud Muffin

Ohio brings more roller coasters. Stiles insists on it, and at the pinched look on Derek's face he threatens to withhold sex if Derek doesn't agree.

"Like we haven't had enough of them in Chicago," Derek complains.

"Different places, dude," Stiles says. "Different roller coasters. And they have other rides, Derek, so stop bitching."

"But-"

"No buts," Stiles cuts him off. "No buts or otherwise you won't have _my_ butt. That's it. No roller coasters, no roller coaster rides on Stiles' ass. I'll withhold sexy times unless you agree to go to Cedar Point with me."

"Do you even listen to half the stuff that comes out of your mouth?" Derek asks, dumbfounded.

"Do _you_? Because I'm telling you there will be no fucking unless we get to ride some more coasters and I don't hear you saying 'Oh, yes Stiles! I will go with you. How could I not, when orgasms are on the line?'"

"We wouldn't want to stop the orgasms," Derek says flatly, because he long but learned not to argue with the boy in front of him.

"No, we wouldn't," Stiles smiles at him. "So, Cedar Point?"

"Cedar Point," Derek nods.

That's how Derek finds himself spending another full day trailing after Stiles in an amusement park. He has to admit the coasters here look cooler than the ones back in Chicago, that the other rides also seem fun, and that he might even be a little excited to go on some of them, but Stiles is still the one that looks like he's in a candy store, not knowing where to go first.

"Which one first?"

"All of them," Stiles says, and Derek has to smile at the awed look in his face.

"Stiles," Derek bumps their shoulders together.

"Ugh, fine," Stiles says, like choosing which roller coaster to ride first is the absolute worst thing he's ever had to do in his entire life. "We can do a roller coaster and then another ride and switch it off as we go along. And I vote for the Millennium Force first."

"Because it gives you Star Wars feelings?" Derek asks, and it's clear how much time he's been spending with Stiles that he doesn't even laugh at what's coming out of his mouth.

"It's like you're in my brain, dude," Stiles says with mock surprise.

Derek grabs him by the back of his neck and shakes him a little. "Let's go."

The day passes in a blur of people, sweat, greasy food, rides, screaming, and feeling kind of like the ground collapsed under their feet. The Millennium Force is not that scary, as far as some other roller coasters there, but its first drop is enough to make Derek reach for Stiles hand and not let go until the ride is over. Not that he's proud of it, and he shows it by the scowl he knows he's giving everyone, and Stiles is smart not to say anything about it- he just smiles like the evil person he is.

Derek gets his revenge when they go for the Skyhawk, which is basically a giant swing set. That swings you up to the sky and back. Fast. Stiles screams every time the swing gets sets backwards and then forwards again, giving them a view of the ground and making it seem like they're going to fall to their horrible deaths. Derek is the one holding back laughter when they finally get out of the ride, and Stiles tries to pretend his knees aren't wobbly, but fails miserably at it when he takes a step and stumbles against Derek.

"I did not fall," Stiles says with a straight face, looking from his hands on Derek's chest back up to Derek. "I purposely threw myself at you. Because I can't keep my hands to myself, okay?"

"You should probably try to feel me up more, then," Derek deadpans.

He gets a nipple squeeze for his troubles.

They go to the Raptor next, and that's an experience Derek never wants to have ever again for as long as he lives.

It all starts when they hear, "There goes the floor, you're out the door - enjoy your ride on Raptor!"

The chairs are set up so your feet are dangling bellow you, very much like the Batman coaster at Six flags. Only this one turns you upside down six different times before it decides you've screamed enough and returns you safely to solid ground. Derek takes in Stiles wide eyes and the wild glint in them that was still part terror and part this-was-the-best-thing-ever. He thinks he might look like that too.

The Power Tower looks exactly how it sounds like. It's 300 feet of steel rising into the sky, and you can choose whether you want to rocket up to the top at an incredible speed, or start at the top and drop downwards faster than a free fall. Derek and Stiles glance at each other and it's not even a question which they will choose – the drop.

"This is beautiful," Stiles says when they reach the top, looking down at the park and to the infinite sky stretched out in front of them.

Derek's answer gets swallowed up as they suddenly drop down, fast, only to stop a couple of seconds later. He opens his mouth to say something again only for the ride to drop the rest of the way down.

"Well, that was nice," Stiles says, after they get out of the ride. "I liked the view better than the drop, though."

"Not scary enough for you?"

"The drop itself wasn't the scary part," Stiles explains. "The waiting for it was. The feeling you get when you know something is coming but you don't know when. And then it takes you by surprise even though you're expecting it. That's scary."

"That's deep," Derek says, raising an eyebrow. "For someone who's talking about amusement park rides."

"Do you wanna know what else is deep?" Stiles wiggles his eyebrows and smiles cheekily. "My a-"

Derek clamps his hand over Stiles' mouth before he can say anything. "Don't finish that sentence."

Stiles licks at the palm of Derek's hand until he moves it away, drying it on Stiles' shirt. "Sure, cover my shirt in spit, why don't you?"

"Thanks, I appreciate it."

Stiles rolls his eyes and bumps Derek's shoulder with his own. "Wanna go get something to eat?"

"You're always thinking about food, aren't you?"

"And sex," Stiles pipes up, smiling.

Derek huffs a laugh and throws his arm over Stiles shoulder. "What do you want to eat?"

"You."

"I'm off the menu right now."

Stiles turns to pout at Derek. "Well, then. If I can't have you right now I might as well settle for ice cream."

"You sound disappointed," Derek says, trying not to sound too smug about it.

"I am disappointed," and the pout is back.

The ice cream parlor, as it turns out, also sells cotton candy, floats, shakes, malts, and sundaes. Derek chances a glance at Stiles' face and chuckles at the pure indecision look on his face.

"Having trouble?"

"There are so many to choose from," Stiles whines.

Derek chuckles and orders chocolate malt for him and, when Stiles still hasn't made a move to pick anything, a sundae.

"I don't know if I should be offended or flattered with you ordering for me," Stiles muses as they make their way to sit on one of the tables outside.

"You know if I hadn't we would have stayed here for hours until you decided on what you wanted."

"True," Stiles concedes. "But if we had stuck to my original plan of having _you_, we wouldn't even be here in the first place."

"Aren't you sore?" Derek asks, because Stiles should be. Last night they fooled around some more to the sounds of what Stiles referred to now as _their song_, only to end up with Derek sprawled on the bed with Stiles on top of him, riding his dick. It was a glorious sight to behold.

"I am," Stiles admits, and then grins wickedly at Derek. "But you're not."

Derek stares at Stiles pluck a cherry off the top of the ice cream and swallow it down, licking the remaining ice cream off his fingers. He wants Stiles' long pale fingers inside of him, opening him up, making him beg for more. He never really thought the desire of having someone fuck him would be this strong, but then again, he'd never considered it to be an option before meeting Stiles.

He feels a hand close around his own on top of the table, and his gaze focus on Stiles, who's looking back at him with a worried expression on his face.

"We don't have to," Stiles says softly, and Derek realizes Stiles took his silence as not being comfortable if the roles were reversed. "I mean, it's fine with me either way. Whatever you want to do."

"I've never done that before," Derek says, and Stiles opens and closes his mouth with a snap.

"You mean you've never fucked a guy before in your life until last night with me, or you've done that but never had anyone do that to you?" Stiles asks, licking the remains of ice cream from his spoon with a dazed look on his face.

Derek leans in across the table and lowers his voice. "Never had anyone do that to me," Derek admits, and likes the way Stiles' eyes darken at that. "But I want to. With you."

"Really?" Stiles stares at him with pupils blow wide and lips curved up.

"If you're up for it," Derek teases, taking a sip of his chocolate malt.

"If I'm-" Stiles huffs in indignation. "You won't be able to _walk_ when I'm done with you. You won't even remember your own _name_."

"Promises, promises."

Stiles narrows his eyes and points his spoon at Derek. "It's on, buddy."

"I certainly hope so," Derek tells him, taking the spoon from Stiles' hand and stealing some of his ice cream.

"Hey!" Stiles says, pulling the spoon out of Derek's mouth and bringing his sundae closer to him. "That's _my_ ice cream. If you wanted some you should have order it instead of malt. No stealing."

"You're oddly possessive of it," Derek watches Stiles put his arm on the table so to create a barrier between Derek and the food.

"I'm oddly possessive of all things and people, Derek," Stiles says, and Derek waits a few seconds for Stiles to realize what he just said. It doesn't take long for the wide eyes and hand rubbing the back of his neck to appear, until Stiles says, "I think I should have told you that? Maybe? Possibly? Before this all started?"

"Told me what?" Derek asks, and he's curious to know Stiles' answer. He might be even feeling a little hopeful, if he's being honest with himself. He'd very much like to be someone Stiles feels possessive over, because he knows he liked when he stuck his claim in front of Kali and her band mates.

"Told you that I don't share," Stiles says, his gaze focused on the melting ice cream of his sundae. "I didn't really think it would be a problem considering it's only us here, so I guess that's why I didn't say anything," he takes a deep breath and looks up at Derek. "But since we crossed the line of casual fucking to something else somewhere in Indiana, I think you should know," Derek can see Stiles bracing himself for whatever it is he's going to say next, and he holds his breath in anticipation. "I don't share. And I really don't want to share you. Not just for the summer but for as long as you'll have me. Which I hope will be for a while, because I kind of got attached?"

Derek just stares at Stiles, letting the words sink in slow and wash over him. This is it, this is what he wants, what he's been waiting for.

"So, yeah, there you have it," Stiles shrugs. "I just wanted you to know what I know. And I hope you feel the same. And if you don't, it's okay, too. I'll take whatever you're willing to give me."

All the air rushes out of Derek as he takes in Stiles smiling sheepishly at him, a blush staining his cheeks. Derek reaches a hand and traces his fingers across Stiles' knuckles, a small smile playing on his lips. "Me too."

"You too what?" Stiles whispers.

"I don't share. I don't want to share you", Derek says. "I got attached. And I'll take whatever you're willing to give me."

Stiles beams at him, eyes glinting in the sunlight. If Derek was the kind of person who used the word beautiful, he'd say Stiles like this was the most beautiful thing he's ever seen in his life.

"So," Stiles says, smiling down at his melted sundae. "Can I start introducing you to people as my boyfriend? Or would you prefer boy toy? I can go for either one. Or maybe Der Bear. Stud muffin. Sweetcakes. Buttercu-"

"Stiles," Derek cuts him off, shaking his head in fond exasperation. "Boyfriend is fine."

"Yeah?" Stiles smiles at him around a spoonful of ice cream.

"Yeah," Derek smiles tentatively back. "More than fine."


	18. Self Control

**A/N:** warnings for bottom!derek

* * *

They're in Pennsylvania.

Not all the way to New York yet, but close. Derek's stomach turns every half hour they get closer and closer to their destination. After they got back to their hotel room, Stiles and Derek had a talk. As much as they agreed they wanted to have a serious and committed relationship with each other, they still had to figure out the logistics of it.

"I'll be in New York while you'll be all the way across the country in Beacon Hills," Stiles points out. "But I'll be home every break unless I'm drowning in work, so…"

"I can come up sometimes," Derek offers. Money is not a problem, and he doesn't think getting out of his job for a couple of days will be, either.

"I'd like that," Stiles says, nipping lightly at Derek's chin. "I can't wait to introduce you as my hot boyfriend and make all my future friends jealous."

"It's like you only want me for my body," Derek deadpans.

"You've uncovered my plan," Stiles says, clutching at his imaginary pearls.

Derek grabs Stiles by the collar of his shirt and pulls him closer, burying his nose in the crook between Stiles' neck and shoulder and inhaling deep. "Dork."

"Hey," Stiles says, running his fingers through Derek's hair and tugging a little. "You like it. Don't even try to pretend that wasn't what got you all hot for Stiles."

"Don't ever say 'all hot for Stiles' ever again," Derek pleads, biting down softly on Stiles' shoulder.

"I make no promises."

They agreed on Derek going to New York whenever he had the time to spare and Stiles going back to Beacon Hills whenever he was on break or didn't have any classes for whatever reason – if he had the money for it, of course.

Whenever Derek thought about their conversation at the ice cream parlor he got this warm feeling twisting in his gut, and he didn't really know what to do with it. It felt like happiness, and it had been such a long time since he felt at least content with anything in his life that he didn't know how to deal with it. He was afraid that if he paid too much attention to it, the feeling would go away, and he didn't want that. He wanted the calm and peace Stiles brought him, dammit. He felt like somehow he deserved this little break, after all he'd been through.

No song is playing on the radio, which ss kind of a first for them. Stiles turned it off as soon as they crossed the state line from Ohio to Pennsylvania, and Derek could have made Stiles stop the car so he could bend him over the hood of the Jeep and fuck him senseless. Stiles also doesn't try to start up conversation, something Derek is grateful for. He has never seen Stiles this quiet before, and to know it is in respect for him and what Derek came here to do makes his heart clench painfully in his chest.

Stiles has to stop for gas at some point, so as soon as they find and park at gas station Derek jumps off the car to stretch his legs. And pace. And grab fistfuls of his hair and pull.

"Derek, you need to calm down," Stiles says softly from behind him.

Derek turns to him and glares. "I am calm."

"No, you're not," Stiles says. "You're scaring all the lovely people that work here with your constant pacing and hair pulling and serial killer good-looks."

"Why does everything always comes back to the way I look?" Derek asks, kind of baffled.

"Is that seriously what you're focusing on?" Stiles comes up to stand just mere inches from Derek, placing a hand tentatively on his shoulder. Derek doesn't really appreciate the way Stiles is treating him, like he might run off scared at any moment. He doesn't shrug off the hand, though. "I know you're anxious about getting to New York, but pacing around at gas station and scaring people won't help anyone."

"It's just. I don't," Derek huffs and rubs a hand over his face. He's too keyed up, feeling like he could burst out of his skin. If he was back home, he would have been running around in the woods by now, trying to get rid of this feeling of restlessness. "I can't believe we're almost there."

"I know, okay?" Stiles says, thumb tracing Derek's collarbone over his shirt. "I know how much this means to you. How important it is to be able to do this for… for Laura. I get it. It'll be okay, Derek." Stiles rests his forehead against Derek's, their breaths mingling. "You'll be okay."

Derek closes his eyes and breathes Stiles in, his arms coming up to rest on top of the boy's shoulders as he pulls him in a tight hug. He so desperately wants Stiles to be right, because if it wasn't for Stiles' belief in him - that he can get through this, that he'll be okay, that things will be alright – he doesn't know what he would do. He wouldn't have Laura to help him through his grief this time, bullying him into getting out of the house and going to work and just _living_.

He pulls back and pecks Stiles lightly on the lips. "Thanks."

And he's thanking Stiles for so much. For the way Stiles sang his way into his life, for his quiet understanding and loud laughter, for the little comforting touches here and there when he thinks he can get away with it, for sharing a little bit of himself through all the miles they left behind.

Stiles smiles softly at him and bumps their noses together. "You're welcome, big guy. Now get your butt in the car."

"Yes, sir."

As soon as Derek gets in his seat and Stiles starts the car, Stiles reaches for his iPod and plugs it in. He scrolls through a few songs before pressing play, Pearl Jam's _Just Breathe_ playing through the car. Derek shakes his head and smiles sadly at Stiles before leaning over the console to place a kiss to the corner of Stiles' mouth, then pulling back and buckling his seat belt.

Stiles and Lydia's apartment in New York is surprisingly… big and spacious and furnished. When Stiles first mentioned having a place to stay here, Derek had thought he was referring to one of those small one bedroom where-am-I-going-to-fit-all-my-things apartment. He should have considered Stiles' roommate was Lydia, and that there was absolutely no way she'd settle for anything less than the absolutely perfect space for her.

"This looks…" Derek says as they enter the apartment and Stiles sets his bags on the floor by the side of the door, motioning Derek inside. Derek doesn't really know how to continue that sentence, he just stares at everything kind of wide eyed before nodding and raising an eyebrow appreciatively.

"Amazing, doesn't it?" Stiles fills in, taking a look around and closing the door behind them. "Lydia's parents' way of letting her know they're sorry for not giving a shit about their daughter. Not that I can complain that much, since this is a pretty sweet place I get to live in while we're going to NYU."

"You could definitely do worse than all this," Derek says, dropping his bags near Stiles'.

"Yeah, I know," Stiles agrees as he walks past Derek to a room which Derek assumes to be the kitchen. Judging by the way Stiles opens the fridge, moving to take a look at the cupboards, drawers, and pantry, he's right. He can see the kitchen has all the supplies it needs, but zero food. "We need to go grocery shopping."

Derek cringes internally. "Can't we do it later?"

"We could," Stiles says, moving to stand in front of him. "But it's relatively early, which means if we go now we can be done soon and we can have sex for the rest of the day and night and have food at our disposal whenever we want."

"We could order takeout," Derek tries, hands resting on Stiles' hips.

"I don't even know of anything good that'll deliver," Stiles laughs at him. "Plus, we need more lube."

Derek looks up and sighs. "Let's go then."

It doesn't take long for them to go back to the apartment. Stiles is incredibly efficient when it comes to buying food, walking around the aisles with purpose.

"I used to do all the grocery shopping back home," Stiles shrugs halfheartedly. "Dad was usually too busy to do it, so I had to."

He also insists on putting away all the groceries when they get back to the apartment, elbowing Derek in the stomach when he tries to get a hand down Stiles' pants.

"Oh my god," Stiles says after the third time Derek tries to unbuckle his belt. "Dude, where's your self-control?"

"I left it in Ohio when you said you wanted to fuck me," Derek says to the back of Stiles' neck before kissing it and walking out of the kitchen. He hears the yelp Stiles makes and the sound of something he thinks might be a cereal box drop to the floor, and then he's being pressed against the wall, Stiles' biting down hard on his bottom lip, tugging it a little, and licking his way into Derek's mouth.

"You can't say shit like that and just walk away," Stiles murmurs against Derek's lips.

Derek uses the hand he has under the waistband of Stiles' jeans to push their bodies closer together, while the other squeezes the back of Stiles' neck reassuringly.

"It got you to leave the groceries," Derek smirks.

"Ugh, I hate you," Stiles says, hands grabbing the hem of Derek's shirt and pushing it up and off.

"No, you don't," Derek bites down on Stiles' neck and worries at the skin there, leaving a mark.

"We need a bed," Stiles pulls back to take his own shirt off and unbuckle Derek's belt. "Or a couch. And the lube and condoms. And you without any clothes on."

Derek hums in agreement, too busy licking at the skin of Stiles' chest to say anything back. Stiles places his hands on Derek's shoulder and forces him back before running one hands down his arm and lacing their fingers together. Stiles directs them to what Derek guesses is Stiles' bedroom and pushes Derek down on the bed, stopping to take Derek's pants and boxers down.

"I don't think I'll ever get over how amazing you look," Stiles licks his lips and takes in Derek sprawled on the bed, hands behind his head, cock flushed and hard.

"You have too many clothes on," Derek tells him, because as amazing as Stiles thinks he looks right now, for Derek Stiles always looks a million times better.

Stiles smirks down at him and reaches into his back pocket, throwing a bottle of lube and condoms on top of the bed.

"That's very boy scout of you," Derek mocks.

Stiles shrugs and pops his pants opened, hooking his fingers under the waistband and tugging it down along with his boxers. "I sneaked it in my pocket when you were sulking because I was putting away the groceries."

Derek spreads his legs, making room for Stiles as the boy climbs into bed. Stiles makes sure not to put any pressure on Derek's cock, something Derek is not too happy about. He wants this, so much he can almost taste it, but for now he'll settle for staring into Stiles' face and cataloguing every mole, his spit slicked red lips, eyes with pupils blown wide, and flushed cheeks.

"Are we done staring at each other?" Derek asks, because Stiles is studying his features as well, and now a small smile curls at his lips.

Stiles response is kissing him, tangling their tongues together, and taking his time to taste every corner of Derek's mouth. Derek has one hand on the back of Stiles neck, keeping him in place, while the other runs up and down his back. This is not exactly how Derek saw this going, slow and gentle and careful instead of fast and hard and rough, but as Stiles finally lowers his body onto his, Derek finds he doesn't mind that much.

Stiles moves from Derek's mouth to nip at his jaw and neck, licking his way down Derek's chest. Derek is breathing hard, nails scratching at the muscles of Stiles' back, and his body arches off the bed when Stiles latches on his nipple. Stiles notices the reaction and smiles smugly up at him.

"Shut up," Derek grunts.

Stiles laughs and comes up to kiss him again. "I didn't say anything."

"You were thinking about it," Derek says, biting down on Stiles' lower lip in retaliation.

"There's no shame in having sensitive nipples," Stiles says, ducking his head when Derek tries to hit him.

"Are you going to make fun of me or are you going to fuck me?" Derek says, annoyed. This is definitely not how he imagined this going, but he guesses that with Stiles you can't never really know.

Stiles again decides not to answer with words, but with lowering his body and head so that he's breathing against the head of Derek's cock. Derek stares as Stiles grabs the lube from its place on the bed and pops the lid open, coating his own fingers. Since the possibility of Stiles fucking him came up, this is the first time Derek's felt nervous about what they're about to do.

All of his doubts fly out the window as soon as Stiles swallows him down. If Stiles will never get over how he looks, Derek will never get over having Stiles' mouth wrapped around his dick. He's going on poetically over Stiles' tongue and mouth in his head when he feels Stiles trace his lube slicked fingers down over his hole. Derek tenses a bit, and Stiles releases him before resting a hand over his stomach, thumb brushing at the trail of hair down his navel.

"It's going to feel a little bit weird at first," Stiles says, voice soft. "But I'm gonna need you to relax, okay?"

Derek nods, forcing his body to relax. Stiles kisses the inside of his thigh and goes back to sucking him off, a finger finally slipping inside after a few seconds. It feels a little weird, having a finger inside of him, but luckily Stiles' mouth distracts him from thinking too much about it.

It goes on like that until Derek is coming all over himself, four fingers deep inside of him. He comes back to Stiles licking come off his stomach and chest, and by the time Stiles finally judges him clean he's already half-hard again. Stiles slides on the condom and slicks himself with some more lube, fingers going back inside Derek to make sure he's as stretched as he's going to be.

"Stiles," Derek pants. "Come on."

"Don't push me," Stiles says, biting a mark on Derek's chest.

Derek's reply turns into a moan as Stiles wraps a hand around his cock, pumping it slowly, and he can feel Stiles settle himself in place before pressing into him. For a second all he can feel is pain, and he's grateful Stiles stops moving as soon as he bottoms out. Derek takes a deep breath, trying to adjust to the feeling of having someone inside of him and forcing his body to relax once again. He can hear Stiles saying something about how _good_ and _tight_ he feels, words cut off by a gasp as he experimentally wiggles his hips a little.

"Fuck, Derek. I need to. I need. Can I?" Stiles breathes against his neck.

"Move," Derek says, giving Stiles what he needs.

The pace Stiles sets is excruciatingly slow, and it's not until Stiles brings one of Derek's legs over his shoulder and changes the angle of his hips a little bit that Derek finally understands why people love this. Soon he's asking Stiles to move faster, fuck him harder, and he's a little overwhelmed with how fucking good this feels.

They're kissing and panting in each other's mouths, biting marks on every patch of skin they can find, and by the lack of rhythm to Stiles' thrusts, Derek can tell he is close. He takes his dick in his hand and starts jerking himself, gasping when he feels another hand joining his. He looks up and Stiles is staring at him from under his lashes, face flushed, and he looks like he has everything he'd ever wanted right here.

The flick of Stiles' wrist on his cock, the look on his face, and him hitting Derek's prostate with the snap of his hips sends Derek over the edge, coming hard between the two of them. Stiles jacks him through it, and follows him right after, stilling on top of Derek and throwing his head back.

They stay like that for a while, Stiles on top and inside of Derek, one of their hands trapped between the two of them and the come drying on Derek's stomach. Derek's other hand is rubbing circles against Stiles' back, while Stiles traces patterns on the skin of Derek's arm.

"I think we should do this more often," Stiles mumbles against Derek's neck. "Fucking you is awesome."

Derek lets his lips twitch in a smile before saying, "I think we should always do it this way."

Stiles punches him in the face in his rush to get up and see if he really means it.

He does.


	19. Saving You

**A/N:** ThornLeaf asked me where you could find the music for the story and the answer is here. i'll be uploading the rest of the songs during the weekend, probably ~

and only one more chapter and an epilogue and that's it guys ;-;

* * *

Derek is sore.

He should have known that when Stiles said they could spend the entire day and night fucking without having to stop and buy food, he would actually want to spend the entire day and night fucking. Not that he's complaining. He very much liked getting fucked six ways to Sunday on every available surface - sans Lydia's bedroom because "she will _know_ and she will _kill_ me, Derek" – on the apartment. But his muscles hurt.

At the moment Derek is limping his way around Central Park with Laura's ashes being held close to his chest and Stiles walking silently by his side. Stiles had asked him that morning what he planned to do with her ashes, and Derek's mind immediately went to those lazy afternoons they spent around the park when they were around and had nothing better to do.

"You know scattering ashes around Central Park is probably illegal, right?"

"Laura would get a kick out of it," Derek shrugs. "And we don't have to scatter everything there."

"We could throw some off the balcony," Stiles suggests, and at Derek's look of horror he quickly adds. "Dude, no, not like that. We could, like, buy some candles and booze and her favorite food or something and have some sort of farewell party and say some things about her and let her ashes flow away with the wind as we listen to her favorite song and shit."

Derek raises an eyebrow at him and considers it. It's not ideal, but it's also not a horrible idea. They end up buying vanilla scented candles, two bottles of vodka, and Twinkies. All of which are Laura's favorites. They leave everything at the apartment before going to the Jeep, grabbing the ashes, and then setting off to Central Park.

They walk around aimlessly for a while, occasionally stopping somewhere so Stiles can take pictures of whatever he finds interesting along the way. Stiles talks and Derek doesn't say anything, just listens to his comments about the people walking around or minor facts about the park's landmarks. With every step Derek thinks if this is right. If this is the place where she'd want to be laid to rest.

Derek tried his best with the little information he had. That has to count for something.

They come to a stop by what Stiles tells him is the Balcony Bridge, sitting down on one of the two bench-lined balconies there. After a while Stiles' hands move over to the lid of the urn. Derek's tightening around it momentarily, and Stiles looks at him and asks, "No one's looking. And you know you're gonna have to do this fast. You ready?"

Derek takes a deep breath and nods before getting up, turning around so that he has one of his knees on top of the stone of the bench and can lean a little bit over the edge and look down at the lake. Stiles makes a move to leave, but Derek stops him with a hand on his arm.

"No," Derek shakes his head. "I want you here. I think Laura would want you to be here for this."

Stiles stares at him for a beat or two before nodding and taking the same stance as Derek on the bench, placing a comforting hand on Derek's shoulder as they open the urn. Derek gestures for Stiles to scoop a handful of ashes.

"You sure?" Stiles asks, biting his lip.

Derek nods, and is a little bit surprised when Stiles leans forward and pecks him in the lips before grabbing a handful of ash in his hand.

"I feel like I should say something," Stiles looks up at the sky then down at the lake, smiling sadly. "Remember that handmaiden's story about where dragons came from? That once there were two moons in the sky, but one wondered too close to the sun and it cracked from the heat? And that out of it poured thousands and thousands of dragons and they drank the sun's fire? You were our sun, Laura. The sun that fed our dragon minds and cracked moon lives with its fire. And my world will be a little less bright now that you're not here anymore. I'll miss you."

Stiles opens his palm and the ashes spill out into the water. Derek pointedly doesn't glance back at Stiles when he hears the boy sniffing, just tilts his head to the side when Stiles rests his forehead on his shoulder. They stay like that for a few seconds before Stiles places a kiss right bellow Derek's ear and backs away from the bench.

Derek suddenly thinks he should have prepared for this better, should have thought of something to say. But at the same time there's so much he could tell her, and even more that he'll never be able to put into words, ever. Laura's ashes are gritty against the palm of his hand, and Derek takes a moment to freak out over the fact that he's holding on to a piece of Laura.

"I'm sorry," is the first thing Derek says. "For everything I did. And especially for everything I didn't do. I wish you were here. I know this is not enough, that it will never be enough, but it's the closest thing I'm going to get, to saving you."

He leans over and lets breeze blow the ashes out of his hand, then places the lid back on the urns and turns to his back to the lake. He walks over to where Stiles is standing across the bridge and throws an arm around his shoulders, holding him close.

"Ready to party?" Stiles asks softly, arm around Derek's waist as they make their way back to the apartment.

"As I'll ever be," Derek says, pressing a kiss to Stiles' temple.

Having the party in the middle of the morning doesn't sound like a good idea to either of them, considering the major part of it consists of scattering ashes from Stiles' balcony, so they decide to leave the preparations for once it gets dark. That only means they have a lot of time to kill, which they do.

Derek helps Stiles unpack his things and do their dirty laundry and the dirty dishes left in the sink. It's oddly domestic, and Derek is a little taken aback by the rightness of it. They're in the kitchen, Stiles dancing and singing around to Rusted Root's _Send Me On My Way_.

"Matilda, dude," Stiles says, as if that explains it all. It kind of does, but Derek's not willing to admit it. "I think it's a crime to cook with any other song on."

Derek makes lasagna for lunch while Stiles goes on about making brownies for dessert. Derek listens to Stiles talk about college and tell stories about his friends when they were little, sometimes offering some information about himself and his family back when he still had one. They don't talk about Laura, or about what they're going to do tonight, or what it means, and they specially don't mention the fact that once this is all done Derek is going back to Beacon Hills.

After lunch and washing the dishes, Stiles takes the plate full of brownies to his bedroom, gesturing for Derek to follow him. They eat in bed, and soon mouthfuls of chocolate are turning into mouthfuls of other things, and Derek can't find in himself to mind or wish things were different.

The rest of the afternoon is spent in a tangle of bodies, orgasms, naps, food, and more orgasms. And then candles are being lit and vodka bottles are being opened when it starts getting dark outside. Stiles somehow finds about 10 different cover versions of Laura's favorite song, and soon they're listening to _Knockin' on Heaven's Door_ on repeat. They eat Twinkies and tell each other stories about Laura, laughing and crying and missing her so fucking much it hurts.

Eventually, they move to the balcony, Derek once again holding the urn while Stiles opens the lid. This time they don't take ashes in their hands, Derek overturning the urn and pouring the rest of it down the balcony, most flying through the wind.

And that's it. Everything that was left of Laura is gone.

"I hope this is what she wanted," Stiles says, staring straight ahead at the New York skyline.

"I hope she doesn't come back to haunt me if it isn't," Derek's mostly joking about that. Mostly.

Either way, it startles a laugh out of Stiles, and Derek places the urn to the floor and finally turns his body around so that they're standing face to face instead of side by side. Stiles reaches out and pulls Derek into a hug, letting Derek find his favorite place between the crook of Stiles' neck and shoulder. Derek closes his eyes and breathes him in, trying to control his breathing and the wave of pure misery he's starting to feel now that Laura is really gone. But Stiles only squeezes him tighter, making sure Derek knows he's here, with him, and that he's not alone.

Derek pulls back to fit their mouths together, needing the contact. The kiss is surprisingly soft, and they break apart after a few seconds, Stiles rubbing their noses together.

"We should probably go back inside," Stiles says, kissing the corner of Derek's mouth.

"Yeah," Derek nods, taking Stiles' hand in his and walking back into the apartment.

Derek makes sure to blow out all the candles that are taking over the living room, not wanting to risk anything catching fire and having a repeat performance of the house fire. Stiles throws the Twinkie wrappers left behind in the trash, picks up the half-empty vodka bottle they left on the ground and changes the music.

Derek shakes his head when _Everlasting Light_ starts playing, and sighs when he feels Stiles' arms wrap around his waist, hands slipping under his shirt and lying flat over his stomach. He feels Stiles' breath against his neck, the wet slide of his tongue when he licks from the base of his neck to right behind his ear, biting down softly and worrying at the skin there. Stiles walks them forward, never breaking his hold on Derek until they get to the bedroom, and they fall into bed together.

Derek goes to sleep with Stiles pressed flushed against him, the music still playing on the background.

Derek wakes up alone in bed.

He can hear Stiles moving around in the kitchen, but decides to stay where he is for a while, appreciating the feeling of not having that much guilt and sadness pressing down on his shoulders this morning. Eventually he drags himself off the bed, slipping on a pair of boxers and making his way to the kitchen. Stiles is sitting at the table with a stack of pancakes and two cups of coffee, and he looks expectantly up at Derek when he sees him.

"You should sit down," Stiles says, and the tone of his voice makes Derek stop short.

He sounds apprehensive, and now that Derek notices he can tell Stiles is tense, mouth set in a tight line, and as soon as Derek sits down he lowers his gaze to his coffee, as if it's the most interesting thing he's ever seen.

"Stiles?" Derek asks, because he wants to know what the fuck is going on.

"Can we eat breakfast first?" Stiles asks. "Please?"

He wants to say no, because Stiles is not looking at him and he's starting to feel scared. When Stiles just focuses on eating his pancakes and sipping his coffee, Derek mumbles an "okay" and does the same.

It's not until they've finished eating, washing and drying all the dishes, and putting everything away that Stiles turns to look at Derek. He licks his lips and shuffles around nervously, and Derek just stands there waiting for whatever it is Stiles wants to say.

Stiles takes a deep breath, and says, "I think you should go back to Beacon Hills. Today."

Derek feels like someone just sucker punched him in the gut. It takes a while for him to do anything other than stare back at Stiles, stunned.

"Why?" Derek asks, trying to maintain his tone even.

"Because I think that after I tell you what I need to tell you, you won't want to be here anymore," Stiles says, eyes cast to the ground.

"What do you need to tell me?"

"The last time I saw Laura, she left some books with me. We used to do that. She'd always bring me something she thought would interest me, and the books sometimes would always have pieces of paper tucked between the pages with little notes about the story," Stiles' voice cracks, and he has to take a few breaths to steady himself before going on. "The day before she… The day before everything, I was going through one of her books when I found this."

Stiles takes something out of his back pocket and shoves it into Derek's hands. Derek looks down to see it's an envelope – slightly bent from being presses into pages, a crisp white except for Derek's name, written across with black ink.

It's Laura's handwriting.

"I should have given it to you earlier," Stiles explains, and Derek doesn't have to look up to see there are tears shining on his eyes. "I was going to, the day we first met. But then we started talking and it just… it didn't seem right. And then I found out about you coming here. And I thought maybe… if I came with… maybe it'd be a good way to do it."

Derek can't speak. He can't breathe. The envelope is heavy in his hands, his vision blurry. "You waited until now to tell me?"

"I tried to tell you about a million times. I just. It was never a good time."

"Never a good time," and Derek's voice sounds hollow even to his own ears.

"Derek, I'm so sorry," Stiles says, voice wobbling. "So fucking sorry."

"You're sorry?" and Derek wants to rip his chest open and wrench his heart out. "You knew. You knew how I. You knew it killed me that she didn't say anything. You fucking _knew_. And still, you had this with you this whole goddamn time."

"Derek, I-"

Derek doesn't stay to listen. He turns his back to Stiles, envelope still in hand, and walks through the living room and back to Stiles' bedroom, throwing some clothes on and packing the rest of his things that are lying around the room. He goes back to find Stiles standing at the opening between the kitchen and living room, eyes red and face pale, arms limp by his sides.

"You can ship back to Beacon Hills or throw away anything of mine I left here," Derek says, opening the door.

"I'm sorry," he hears Stiles whisper.

Derek closes the door behind him without looking back.


	20. Falling Is Like This

**A/N: **

i'm not sure if i'm gonna have time tomorrow to update the story or not, so have a chapter ~ but in case i actually do have time, i guess then this is almost the end? AND THE SOUNDTRACK WAS UPDATED :O you can check it out here ( /works/631845/chapters/1142990) if you want to.

* * *

Derek's been back in Beacon Hills for almost six months.

Summer has given away to fall, fall to winter, and before he realizes it, it's almost Christmas again. People still look at him with pity in their eyes, but they long stopped asking him if he was okay, or telling him how much they missed Laura, and that if he needs anything he should just call. He hasn't seen or talked to Stiles since that night he walked out of the apartment, took a cab, and got on a flight back to California.

What he has been doing, though, is checking his email every Saturday morning.

The first week after he got home wasn't a good one. He had to deal with all of Laura's things, deciding what would stay and what would be given away, and the only way he could do that was by actually going through everything she left behind. He kept all her books, gave all her shoes and most of her clothes away to charity – Derek had to keep Laura's favorite worn out hoodie and an oversized The X-Files shirt with the words _the truth is out there_ written across it – and kept all of her perfumes.

That kept Derek busy most of the day, but that still left nights for him to think about Stiles. About the way he hummed under his breath when he was distracted, rubbed the back of his neck when he was embarrassed, how passionate he was about music and it seemed like he would never shut up once you got him talking about it. Derek watches that stupid video of Stiles dancing over and over again and he thinks about the way Stiles felt under him, on top of him, inside of him, wrapped around him in the mornings. And he misses him. But he doesn't know how to deal with what Stiles kept from him.

It's on the first weekend after he's back that he's checking him email when he sees it.

**From:** My name is not Genim but Stiles Stilinski ( )

**To:** Derek Hale ( )

**Subject:** #1

Derek stares at his computer screen for a while, not knowing if he should open the email or just forget about it. He wonders what it might be, and why Stiles decided to send it to him even after Derek ignored all his attempts at contact since he left. He can see there's something attached to it, and curiosity wins in the end.

He opens the email to come face to face with a picture of him. The lighting is dark, and it shows Derek with his back to the camera, the triskele between his shoulder blades showing as he shrugs his t-shirt off. Derek can make out Scott and Isaac to his right in the picture, Scott with his ever-present goofy smile and Isaac grinning. There's also Danny with a hand covering his face, Erica looking over her shoulder as she and Boyd get back into the house, and an annoyed-looking Jackson with his arm thrown over Lydia, who's the only one looking directly at the camera.

This is the night they spent at Erica's beach house, and Derek figures Stiles must have taken this with his cellphone just moments before Derek threw his shirt off and away into the night, to never be seen again. Seeing this makes Derek's stomach twist, and before he even realizes what he's doing or why he's doing it he downloads the picture, saves it to his computer, and clicks 'print'.

He doesn't reply to any of Stiles' emails, but they keep coming. Week after week after week Derek goes check his inbox to find another picture – things they saw on the trip, candids Stiles took of him when Derek wasn't looking, or sometimes pictures of both of them together. Stiles never says anything on the emails, just attaches the pictures and hits 'send', so Derek doesn't feel like he has to say anything back. He feels guilty, though. That he spends the entire week wishing for Saturdays, for new pictures he can print and stuff it in one of Laura's old decorative boxes, that he values this interaction with Stiles so much he aches for it. And isn't that pathetic?

Sometimes Derek thinks about answering him, though. Thinks about asking him why he's doing this, what he expects from it, if he misses Derek as much as Derek misses him, and if he wishes they could fix this between them. Because Derek does, he wants things to get better, he wants Stiles around with his annoying pop songs and cold feet and fingers running through Derek's hair. He wants it all back, he wants _them_ back, but he doesn't know how to get it. He doesn't know what to say or do to make things okay again. That is until he goes to check his email two weeks before Christmas and finds another picture, and gets promptly slapped in the face.

It's a picture of both of them Stiles must have taken while Derek was asleep. It shows both of them on the bed, shirtless, Derek with his face smashed against Stiles' neck, one hand resting on his shoulder. Stiles has his eyes closed, one hand cradling the back of Derek's head while the other holds the camera up, and his mouth is pressed firmly against his forehead. They look like they've been doing this forever. With the picture it comes the first words Stiles has said to him in almost six months.

**From:** My name is not Genim but Stiles Stilinski ( )

**To:** Derek Hale ( )

**Subject:** Falling is like this

_I'll be coming home in a couple of weeks for Christmas. I'd like to see you._ _You have my number, so you can call me and we can meet up._ _And I want you to know that if you don't want to, then… I'll stop. I'll stop with the emails and the pictures and you'll never hear from me again._ _But I really hope that's not what you want._ - _Stiles_ _P.S: subject title comes from an Ani DiFranco song._

The mere thought of having Stiles disappearing from his life is what gets Derek moving. He googles the artist's name and the subject title together and clicks on the first YouTube link he finds. As he listens to the lyrics he clicks on the reply button and stares blankly at the computer screen. There's so much he could say, so much he wants to say, but he doesn't want to do it through email. He wants to look into Stiles eyes, wants to have him close to him, wants to measure his reactions to Derek's words. So Derek types in his response, hits 'send' and goes to pace and worry all over the house.

**From:** Derek Hale ( )

**To:** My name is not Genim but Stiles Stilinski ( )

**Subject:** I'll Be Seeing You

_That's not what I want._ - _Derek_ _P.S: Billie Holiday_

Stiles is set to be back next week, on the weekend before Christmas, and Derek is nervous. He's so nervous, in fact, that he almost doesn't notice the two people sitting on the steps of his front porch until he almost steps on them. He glances down to find Isaac and Scott staring up at him, both of them with serious looks on their faces. Derek snorts in his head at the thought of Scott looking serious, going back to that night at the beach when they met and remembering how stoned Scott was. Isaac has a hand on Scott's shoulders, and the puppy dog eyes he usually sports are nowhere to be seen. He actually looks kind of scary, if Derek was the type of person to be easily intimidated.

"You're here for Stiles," Derek guesses, staring blankly at the two.

"Yes," Isaac says, and Scott completes, "And we're here to threaten you."

Derek raises an eyebrow at that and fights the urge to smile, because he likes to know Stiles has friends who'd go as far as to threaten anyone who hurt him. He nods at them to continue, and both of the boys get up, Scott coming to stand right in front of him, his eyes narrowed.

"Stiles stopped listening to music," Scott says, and that causes Derek's eyes to widen, because of all the things he thought Scott would say, that was not one of them. "When you left, he stopped. He wouldn't tell us what happened, only that he fucked up and you left. Every time either of us tried to cheer him up by taking him to a music store or buying him a CD or driving around listening to music, he'd get this sad look on his face and his chin would wobble and he'd tell us to stop." Scott is poking Derek's chest with a finger, breathing a little hard, and he looks about three seconds away from punching Derek in the stomach. "If there's anyone in this entire world who doesn't deserve to have a sad look on their faces and wobbly chins, it's Stiles. So if you ever hurt him again, I will come after you."

Scott waits for Derek to nod that he understands before stomping away, leaving Derek alone with Isaac. Isaac doesn't move, just stares somberly at Derek and then tilts his head to the side.

"A few days ago we came up to visit him in New York," Isaac says. "Lydia called us, saying something was wrong. We got there and he was listening to Billie Holiday and making brownies and he was… he looked _happy_. And when we managed to get him to calm down enough to tell us what happened, he told us it was you. _You_ happened. And as glad as we all are to have Stiles back, we won't forget that you were the one who made him feel like shit. And believe me when I say this, Scott might come after you, but if you ever hurt Stiles again I'll _break_ you. I know what it takes to do it, and I know where it hurts most, and I won't hesitate to do it."

Derek doesn't say anything, and Isaac might not expect him too because soon he's walking off to where Scott is standing, and both of them get into Isaac's old truck and drive off. Derek gets back inside, mind running, and he's about to grab one of his whisky bottles and get plastered when the doorbell rings. His brows furrow in confusion and goes to open the door to find Lydia and Erica glaring at him. He sighs and pushes the door all the way open to let them in.

"Isaac and Scott already threaten to hurt me," Derek lets them know.

"We know," they say in unison, eerily.

"We're here to know what your plan is," Lydia informs him, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

"My plan," Derek repeats, because he has no idea he is supposed to have one.

"Yes you idiot," Erica huffs, annoyed. "Your plan to get Stiles back."

"I wasn't aware I needed one?" Derek says, and he hates how it comes out sounding like a question. Thinking about it now, it might be a good idea to think of something to do for Stiles, to make sure his intentions are clear.

Erica looks affronted while Lydia looks merely disgusted, and Derek feels like he should have closed the door on their faces.

"Were you planning to just stare at him and let Stiles do all the talking until you get tired and shut him up with a kiss?" Lydia asks, tone flat.

Derek opens his mouth to say that _no_, that wasn't what he was planning _at all_, but it kind of was. He lets Erica throw her arms up in exasperation while Lydia narrows her eyes at him before giving him one of the most terrifying smiles he's ever seen. And he used to have Laura for a sister.

"We're going to have to remedy that," Lydia tells him, Erica nodding by her side.

Derek closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before staring at the two girls in front of him and saying, "Tell me what you need me to do."

Stiles got home yesterday and Lydia had texted him telling him she'd bring Stiles to _Bean Me Up_ tomorrow afternoon just like they planned. Derek hadn't talked to Stiles yet, as per Lydia's instructions, and he can't wait to see him. Ruth brings him a glass of water and smiles kindly at him, and Derek is not really surprised when she sits down beside him and bumps their knees together.

"I never thought I'd see this," Ruth teases him. "The day Derek Hale would be nervous because of a boy."

"Shut up," Derek grunts, and she laughs. "I'm more nervous about what I'm going to do, not that I'm going to see him."

Ruth shakes her head at him and kisses him on the forehead before getting up and making her way out to the front of the shop. "You'll be fine. And if you're not, I'll make sure to turn the power off before it gets too embarrassing."

Derek buries his head in his hands and thinks Stiles better appreciate this. And make it up to him with sex. Lots and lots of sex.

It's about fifteen minutes later when Erica barrels through the door of the storage room where Derek is hiding.

"It's show time, lover boy."

The reason why everyone loves _Bean Me Up_ so much is because they have a stage. It's not much, but it's there, and sometimes there's live music playing while everyone drinks their coffee. And that's where Derek makes himself comfortable, hooking his guitar to one of the amps and adjusting the microphone. He plays a few chords to get everyone's attention, and his eyes scan the room before finding Stiles, who's sitting on a table surrounded by his friends and staring at Derek with wide eyes and mouth open.

"Hi, Stiles," Derek says into the microphone, smiling when Stiles flails and almost falls off the chair. "You might know this one."

Derek takes a deep breath, looks eyes with Stiles, and sings, "_You give me that look that's like laughing with liquid in your mouth like you're choosing between choking and spitting it all out. Like you're trying to fight gravity on a planet that insists that love is like falling and falling is like this."_

He can tell Stiles recognizes the song by the way his mouth snaps shut and his eyes get glassy. And Derek takes a deep breath and keeps singing. "_Feels like reckless driving when we're talking. It's fun while it lasts, and it's faster than walking. But no one's going to sympathize when we crash. They'll say 'you hit what you head for, you get what you ask.' And we'll say we didn't know. No, we didn't even try. One minute there was road beneath us, and the next just sky._"

Derek still has his eyes glued to Stiles, not paying attention to the people around them. Right now his whole world is focused on Stiles, the way Stiles is looking back at him, and at the small smile on his lips. "_I'm sorry I can't help you, I cannot keep you safe. I'm sorry I can't help myself, so don't look at me that way. We can't fight gravity on a planet that insists that love is like falling and falling is like this._"

As soon as the last words fall from his lips Derek sees Stiles make his way to him. Derek only has time to place his guitar down before he finds himself with an armful of Stiles and a tongue down his throat. He barely registers the clapping and cat-calls, too busy getting lost in the feel of having Stiles with him again.

Stiles pulls back after a while, beaming at Derek and looking so disgustingly _happy_ all Derek can do is burry his face on Stiles neck and laugh. Stiles holds Derek tighter and actually _giggles_ at him before whispering in his ear, "Danny caught everything on video. This will forever be known as The Day Derek Hale Confessed His Undying Love To Stiles Stilinski Through An Ani DiFranco Song."

Derek nips at Stiles neck, making the boy yelp. "Don't forget I still have the Spice Girls video."

"You still-," Stiles groans, dropping his head to Derek's shoulder. "Oh my god, I am so breaking up with you."

Derek holds him tighter for that and says against his ear, "No, you're not."

Stiles sighs and rubs his cheek against Derek's stubble. "No, I'm really not."


	21. A Year Later & The Letter

**A/N:** this is the end. it's over. the link to the soundtrack is up on my profile, as is my tumblr, so you can check it out there.

THANK YOU SO MUCH for all of you who took the time to read and review this story. you were all amazing and made the whole process of posting this worth it 3

* * *

"Oh my god, why do we even own this much music? Seriously, how can two people came to own these many CDs, and vinyl records? And the amount of books and DVDs. We're gonna need about ten boxes just to pack all of this. What is _wrong _with us, Derek?"

Derek leans against the back of the couch at Stiles and Lydia's apartment, staring down at Stiles surrounded by piles and piles of CDs, vinyls, DVD cases and books. He moved to New York on the one year anniversary of their road trip after being offered a job customizing bikes – Derek's old boss in Beacon Hills might have had something to do with that, calling some people and making sure Derek knew he had options outside of the city if he, let's say, wanted to pack up and follow his boyfriend to college.

Derek did just that, and soon he was closing the house and driving to New York to go live with Stiles and Lydia. Stiles was ecstatic, screaming on the phone and - by what Lydia told him after he got there, and giving him a very confused stare while she did it - dancing around the apartment while singing Spice Girls.

The first few months of them living together weren't as bad as they could have been, since they were already pretty used to having each other around. Even though they didn't see each other for a while after they got back together that Christmas break, that uneasy feeling they had those first few weeks of coming back from the trip and having to sleep alone in bed and not see each other after spending so much time together never really went away. Derek liked to think that was because they were so right for each other, that any other way other than having Stiles right there with him was just _wrong_.

They still fought. Stiles would scream at him for being emotionally constipated and not using his words and Derek would sometimes leave and not come back for two days whenever he thought things were too much. But they got through it. They fought to maintain what they had, because neither of them was willing to let it go, willing to let each other go. They already tried that and it didn't go well for either of them.

"Dude," Stiles says, snapping Derek out of his thoughts. "You didn't answer me. Is that because you think there reallyissomething wrong with us?"

"There's nothing wrong with us," Derek rolls his eyes. "I was just thinking."

"Thinking," Stiles says, getting up from his place on the floor and trying not to trip on anything as he moves to stand in front of Derek. "When you zone out like that you're usually thinking about bad things. Or really sappy things you don't want to talk to me about so I won't make fun of you."

Derek chuckles and brings his hands up to rest on Stiles hips, pulling him close so that he's standing between Derek's legs and dipping his head to nuzzle at his neck. Stiles hums and tilts his head to the side to give Derek better access, and wraps his arms around Derek's shoulders.

"Sappy things," Stiles says. "You're definitely thinking about sappy things."

Derek leans back, rubbing their noses together before pecking Stiles on the lips. "I was thinking about us."

Stiles runs his fingers through Derek's hair and raises an eyebrow at him. "Were you thinking about us having sex? Because I'd really like to take a break from packing our things - something I'm doing completely on my own and without your help, by the way – to have my wicked way with you."

"Sometimes I think you only keep me around for my ass," Derek sighs, shaking his head at Stiles.

"Only sometimes?" Stiles smiles at him, tongue poking out between his teeth.

Derek shakes his head at him again, before tipping his head up and biting down on Stiles lower lip. Stiles opens his mouth for him, letting Derek taste him and lick his way into his mouth. They stay like that, kissing each other lazily and slowly until Derek pulls back again to stare at Stiles. He doesn't think he'll over get over just looking at him, and the thought brings a small smile to his lips.

Stiles tugs at his hair, "Focus."

"I'm glad we're moving in together," Derek finally says.

Stiles tilts his head at him on confusion, "But we already live together."

As funny as it was seeing Scott cover his eyes, run to the door, miss the door and hit the wall, fall to the ground, get back up and this time actually run through the door all the while screaming something about what is seen can't be unseen and bleach and never ever forgiving Stiles for this, Derek doesn't want a repeat performance.

"You meant you're glad we can fuck whenever we want and wherever we want without anyone walking in on us," Stiles says, nodding his head at Derek.

Derek huffs a laugh and squeezes Stiles hips. "It's like you're in my brain, dude."

"Hey," Stiles says, punching Derek lightly in the shoulder. "Don't mock me. Or I'll leave you to pack everything while I just sit and watch. And maybe play with myself."

Derek snorts and nips at Stiles chin before pushing him away a little bit and getting up from the couch. "Come on, we need to have everything packed and at the apartment until tonight if we want to catch our flight and spend Christmas in Beacon Hills."

"I know, there's just so much stuff," Stiles sighs and moves to grab some boxes. "And dad will never forgive you if we're late for Christmas."

"You mean he'll never forgive _us _if we're late for Christmas."

"I'm his son. He loves me. He'll forgive me for _anything_," Stiles says proudly, packing up some books.

"Not if all of our friends are there while we're stuck at an airport because we couldn't manage to do this," Derek says, packing CD and DVD cases. "When _this_ is something we told him it was done _weeks_ ago."

"At least we're already packed?" Stiles says to him, smiling sheepishly.

Derek huffs and throws a The Killers CD at his head.

The house is full.

When Derek found out Stiles had somehow managed to convince everyone it was a good idea to spend Christmas together at the Sheriff's house, he really didn't think of how many people would be there.

Lydia is setting the table, making sure everything is arranged just how she likes it. The Sheriff and Isaac are sitting on the couch animatedly talking about baseball, Boyd sometimes interjecting with an opinion or nodding his head while Erica is going through the presents under the tree in the living room, rearranging them so that they look more like neat piles of wrapped paper other than something that people just threw on the ground. Danny comes from the kitchen holding a tray, Jackson right behind him, and they both pass the glasses with eggnog to everyone around the room.

Derek moves to the kitchen to find Stiles, Ruth, Scott's mom, and Scott. Melissa is currently scolding her son for trying to sneak some pie out of kitchen, Scott looking like a kicked puppy before saying he's sorry and asking her if can he at least have some mashed potatoes. Melissa whacks him in the face with a washcloth. Ruth and Stiles are talking and laughing while Stiles tries to find a place to put the pie in his hands, and after some moving around Ruth points to a corner on the kitchen counter that doesn't have anything. She glances to the door and nods at Derek, Stiles following her gaze and beaming when their eyes lock.

"Come on, Der," Stiles beckons him closer. "Help your boyfriend set all this food on the table."

At the mention of food Scott's head perks up.

"I'll help you!" Scott says, and just as he's about to grab one of the pies Melissa grabs him by the ear and drags him out of the kitchen.

Ruth, Stiles, and Derek start bringing the food out, which makes everyone immediately drop what they're doing and go find their places on the table. Ruth follows him on his last trip to the kitchen – Stiles forgot the cranberry sauce – and stops Derek with a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm going to say this while no one is around to listen," Ruth starts, tone serious, but kind. "I'm proud of you. I'm proud that you let someone in, and I'm so glad that someone is Stiles. He's an amazing young man, and both of you are good for each other. I'm just. I'm happy for you. And I know Laura would be happy for you, too."

She leaves him, then, standing in the middle of the kitchen trying to calm his breathing. As much as he loves Ruth, sometimes she can be a little bit of a bitch - especially when she catches him off guard. He brings the sauce back to the living room and sits on his assigned seat at the table, letting the laughter and voices around him wrap themselves around him, the steady weight of Stiles' hand on his knee keeping him grounded.

Thinking about Laura still hurts, but sometimes during the day when he sees something that reminds him of her, it hurts a little less. Sometimes he can think about her without wanting to break something. Sometimes he's happy and it doesn't even hurt like it used to knowing that she's not here to be happy with him. Derek knows he'll never be the way he was before, but that's okay. Life goes on, and Derek is moving on, even without Laura. Not every day hurts. Not every breath hurts.

Maybe that's all we can really ask for.

That night, after they eat and exchange gifts and everyone goes back to their homes and the Sheriff goes to bed, Stiles and Derek go up to Stiles' room. Derek smiles fondly at all the band posters stills covering the walls, thinking of how teenage Stiles must have spent his days here listening to music. Derek goes to his bag and grabs the black box hidden between his shirts, and turns to see Stiles on the bed, his back resting on the headboard, a red gift-wrapped squared with a green bow on top placed in front of him.

Derek raises an eyebrow at him, and Stiles shrugs. "It's not like you didn't get me anything else, either. The mysterious notebook-shaped black box you're holding is not _that _mysterious."

Derek rolls his eyes and goes to sit on the bed right across from Stiles, now both of them with their legs crossed and with the gifts resting in front of them.

"Can I give you your gift first?" Stiles asks, biting his lip. "Because it feels kind of lame compared to your black box and I'd like to get over the disappointed look on your face when you open it before we go to sleep."

Derek raises both of his eyebrows at that and leans over to kiss Stiles on the lips, pulling back and grabbing the gift meant for him. He takes the bow off, grabbing Stiles' hand and tying it around his wrist, and moves on to rip off the wrapping paper. He stares at the CD on his hand, the cover being that one last picture Stiles sent him by email, the one of Derek sleeping with his face hidden on Stiles neck and Stiles placing a kiss on his forehead. The words _Like Falling_ written on top of the picture in Stiles' messy handwriting, and Derek can feel the way he's smiling like an idiot at the mix in his hand. He turns it in his hand and finds the song list, smiling growing more and more at each passing song title. Every song on it is something they both listened to at some point during their New York trip.

Derek takes his eyes from the CD and looks up at Stiles, who's tugging at his bottom lip with his teeth and staring at Derek like he's not sure if this was a good enough Christmas gift. So Derek leans over again and makes sure to kiss all his doubts away.

"This is," Derek says against Stiles lips, kissing him again once, twice. "I love it."

"Yeah?" Stiles whispers, smiling.

"Yeah," and Derek kisses him again one more time before sitting back on the bed and pushing Stiles' gift with his fingers until it Stiles picks it up. "And I guess it kind of goes with the theme of mine, considering the title of the mix."

Stiles frowns in confusion before shrugging and opening the box. Inside he finds a leather-bound book, and he takes it out of the box before placing it in his lap. He undoes the threads keeping it closed and opens it, the first page being blank expect for the words _Like falling_ written in silver ink. Stiles blinks at the page for a while, and then he's staring back at Derek and blinking at him.

"Did we seriously get each other gifts with the same name?" Stiles asks, looking kind of stunned.

"You don't know whether to be proud or disgusted?" Derek throws back, smirking.

"I really don't," Stiles shakes his head and goes back to looking at the book.

He turns the first page and Derek sees the moment his mouth drops open. Stiles fingers are shaking a little as he turns to the next page, and the next, and the next, until he closes the book and hugs it. Actually _hugs _it. Rocking his body back and forth with it pressed to his chest a few times.

"You liked it?" Derek asks a little hesitantly, because even though he's still hugging the book he hasn't said anything or made any move to kiss the fuck out of Derek.

"Do I like it?!" Stiles shrieks, and Derek gapes at him. "Are you honestly asking me if I like it? If I like all the trouble you went through getting this together? If I like that you came up with the idea to do this in the first place? If I like that this means that all the emails I sent to you after you left New York and came back to Beacon Hills weren't just me talking to air? If I like it that you saw them and that you printed the pictures and made it all into the perfect gift for me? Yes, Derek, I fucking like it. God fucking dammit, you perfect piece of human being. I love you so fucking much, you fucking asshole."

And with that, Stiles throws both of their gifts out of the bed and launches himself at Derek.

At New Year's Eve, Derek takes the envelope from the bottom of his bag. It still looks the same as it did when Stiles gave it to him, only maybe now it's a little more crumpled than it used to be, and the white of the paper doesn't look so white anymore. Derek's name written on it in Laura's handwriting is still the same, though.

Derek has no idea what the note says. He didn't read it, didn't want to, and didn't think he was ready to, but as the New Year approaches he feels like he should. Start the New Year and his new life with Stiles without the weight of this on his shoulders. So he takes the envelope and sits on Stiles' desk chair.

He can hear the Sheriff and Stiles down in the living room talking, or Stiles telling his dad that the last thing he's going to do before leaving for New York again is making sure that there are only healthy types of food to eat in the house, and that he'll have a talk with Ruth to keep an eye on him so he won't slip on his diet. He hears the Sheriff groan, Stiles' laughter echoes through the house and Derek smiles.

The envelope sits on his lap and Derek stares at it, trying to muster the guts to open it. That's how Stiles finds him, sighing for losing a battle against a piece of paper.

"Derek?" Stiles calls him, stopping by the door. He looks from Derek's lap back to Derek's face, and asks, "Do you want me to go?"

Derek shakes his head no. He feels like he can do this is Stiles is here, and he brings the chair closer to Stiles as Stiles sits crossed-legged on the bed.

"I think it's time," Derek says.

Stiles nods his head and places a hand on Derek's knee, letting Derek know that he's here if Derek needs him. Derek takes a deep breath and rips the envelope open, catching the paper that falls out of it. He unfolds the paper and reads.

_Derek,_ _I don't expect you to understand why I did it. All I know is that I couldn't anymore. The fire, missing mom and dad, missing our whole family, having to live everyday knowing they're not here anymore… I just. It's like there's this big, constant pressure on my shoulders, dragging me down, and I don't know what to do. I don't know how to make it better. I've tried and I can't. I can't. I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry._ _Stiles Stilinski is probably going to come looking for me. He was one of my best students, a friend. Be nice to him because he lost me too. I think you'll be good for each other._ _I love you, little brother. _ _Always._ _-Laura_


End file.
